Long Lost Soul
by Ihsan997
Summary: A washed-up ex-mercenary drowning himself in the bottle discovers a piece of himself he'd left behind. Seeking a woman he hasn't seen in nearly a decade, he and those close to him put together the puzzle that is his former life despite the missing pieces. Set in the future of Azeroth; very AU.
1. Prologue

High on the rocky bluffs overlooking the port city of Ratchet, the wind blew by with little to impede its flow. Down in the city proper, among the winding streets and numerous high, goblin style buildings, the air was a little more calm that night. Busy and bustling twenty four hours a day, there was still quite a bit of activity going on even after dusk, and the lights down below made it difficult for many of the denizens to know night from day.

Up on the bluffs, things were a little bit different. Starlight provided a more natural means of illuminating the area, shining bright from a gorgeous cloudless sky. Three large estates lied in a row, facing toward the ocean and overlooking the public breach below. All three of them were walled, the residences of various families who had contributed to the city's cultural flavor and the local community. A quiet wyvern roost manned by a sleepy eyed pair of orcs stood at one end of the row, marking the sharp southern end of the bluffs and the dropoff point to where one could reach the main entryway to Ratchet by land, through a slanting ravine.

Far at the other end of the houses stood a miniature forest sprouting up at the northern edge. Next to it stood a naturally grown, arched house bearing Kaldorei architecture and featuring Darkspear decorations. The small forest growing outside complimented the scene, situated right next to the far outer wall of the estate and shielding another series of stone structures unseen to outsiders. Hidden from all but those who knew what to look for, the small shrine held an unnatural silence, as if the noise of the city below and even the wind itself couldn't penetrate the circle of trees.

Inside, land was flat and grassy. Even during the daylight hours it was a dark place due to the angle at which the trees grew, shielding everything from the sun. At that time of night, only a few pixels of starlight broke through, though the natural sparkle of the balance provided just enough light for anyone to see. Small round stones jutted up from the soil, ringing the flat area as a sort of border. None of them stuck up particularly high, but they were noticeable and had obviously been raised that way intentionally. Strangely for the Barrens, a handful of wispy forest spirits rotated around the trees, a holdover from the enchanted forests to the north of the continent of Kalimdor. It was an altogether calm scene, were it not for the purpose of the visitor's presence at the clearing.

A tall, well built man with a violet-blue colored hide stepped in from between the trees. Despite his great height, he walked carefully, as if he didn't want to disturb any of the spirits in the area. Slowly, somberly, he entered the clearing without a word, his eyes downcast as if his mind were elsewhere. An indigo colored mane spilled over his back, washed but not styled, as if he hadn't planned on going anywhere that day. A plain cotton shirt and pants seemed to accentuate the fact that he hadn't been out in a while, and the crestfallen look on his face spoke of someone who had spent the past few nights in contemplation of this moment.

Hands in pockets, he merely stood and watched the ground before him, not quite knowing what to do or what to say at first. There were no birds nor crickets chirping in the clearing, and not even the wind rustled the leafy branches above. All was still and silent in the world, as if nature itself waited for him to act. Two glowing silver eyes contrasted with two short but visible tusks, marking the man of mixed Kaldorei and Darkspear heritage just like the style of the large house next to the clearing. Yet even the presence of the large, comfortable looking estate couldn't comfort the downtrodden man as he watched the scene laid out before him.

There, in the middle of the clearing, sat two round stones with hollowed out holes in the faces. Elven runes had been carved into the sides of the round stones, words of farewell in the next life for the souls of the beloved fallen. Trollish fetishes also hung off of the rocks, once again marking the dualistic aestheticism of the place. Inside the hollows of the rocks shone ethereal blue and silver lights, the signifiers of a night elf cemetery; a place of quiet reflection on the heroines and heroes of the past, naturally designed by the balance itself and distinct to even the most unfamiliar of visitors.

And there, in that clearing, sat the two graves laid out before the gravestones. One of them was shorter than the other, while the other was longer, signifying the different heights of the two people buried there. Peaceblooms grew up from the slightly elevated soil that symbolized the return of the living to nature, a beautiful scene that should provide some measure of solace to the loved ones of the deceased. To the creator, we belong; to that creator, we return. The man had repeated that mantra to himself so many times, but that didn't make acceptance of it any easier.

As he stood and looked down at the two graves, the first tears began to fall. Slowly and without sound, he wept for those he had lost. For every lost comrade, for every deceased family member, for friend and family alike that had been taken from him as fate often tended to do. Unseen and unable to contain himself any longer, he silently cried in that clearing, the only living being but by no means alone. Names and faces flashed through his memory, the last among them the pair who had been laid to rest in the graves before him in that clearing.

Ever so slowly, he knelt down, coming to rest on his knees on the soft grass. His movement was purposeful and careful, as if he didn't want to disturb the rest of those who had finally found peace. Melancholy but almost envious in a way, he wondered what that felt like; to attain peace in life and to die happily. For sure he knew the two before him had found that peace, but whether or not he'd be able to do so, to truly atone and make amends for all he'd done was another question.

Kneeling in the grass, it was all he could do to simply cry out what had been repressed for so long, and to mourn what he'd lost in those two graves, even if the occupants had found their peace.

It was all he could do to feel that sense of loss, and go over all the mistakes he'd made that had led up to that point...


	2. Died

A/N: hello, readers! Welcome to the final volume of Taming the Beast, the tale of a half night elf, half jungle troll finding his place in the world one mistake at a time. As with the other volumes, you DON'T have to read other stories to understand this one. Of course, I would love it if you read my other stories, but that's totally up to you. This essentially leads off from the previous volume, but I don't assume that the reader has any background as to the characters and setting; all necessary information is provided here, and hopefully this story will make sense even to newcomers.

For reasons that may not immediately be apparent, this story is rather special to me. I do hope that you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Have fun!

The two of them stood on either side of the narrow passage between the trees. Although the oasis provided everything a bandit camp would need in order to remain self sufficient, it also made the place surprisingly easy to find. Brother and sister remained in their hiding places, concealed by shadows and palm trees as their long ears spied on the rambling conversations of what few drowsy bandits were still awake.

They'd done well for themselves, this group. After clearing out the local quilboar, the bandits had apparently raised a crude series of tents in the area, housing both themselves and the two donkeys they used to pull their stolen wagon. That wagon would be essential when corralling all the criminals later; for the time being, they had to focus on apprehending all the bandits without killing them.

"And the she said...then...she said, what kind of boot is that? And so I say to her, it's a rebar boot!" one of the bandits attempted to joke through a mouthful of mead.

His words made absolutely no sense at all, but his two drunken companions laughed nonetheless. Their voices were just a little bit too loud, as if they truly believed themselves alone in that oasis out on the open plains of the Barrens. In truth, it was a great hideout; they were tucked against a twenty foot high boulder and faced the still waters of the oasis on the other side. The only means of assault would be the two flanks of their tents. The flank farthest away from the position of the two tall, stalking beings had already been booby trapped with voodoo wards that would spring a stasis trap whenever hostile entities passed by; any attempts by the bandits to run would result in them being pulled to the ground irresistibly, making the capture quest must easier.

Navarion held his loaded pistol in one hand as he hid behind his tree. Handguns took much longer to reload than rifles, and he'd only have one good shot before all hell broke loose. Normally, firearms would be taboo on a quest that required the targets to be returned alive, but his healing skills meant that once the bullet was removed, the bandits could be returned to normal and prepared for the ride in their own wagon back to the Crossroads. The only issue was aiming for their legs or another non-vital part. As a shadow hunter, Navarion was a master of voodoo, a combination of both life and death magic. He knew where to strike to kill and where not to, just as the spirits told him that beyond the three waking bandits, there were three more sleeping along with two slumbering donkeys. His leather and chainmail armor was a bit unorthodox for his class, but then again shadow hunters were rarely orthodox people to begin with.

Sharimara, his bounty huntress sister, stood across from him. Unlike him, she had inherited their mother's ability to shadowmeld, and stood as a vague outline against the opposite tree as they continued to listen patiently. A giantess of a woman, she intimidated her targets so much that they often gave up without a fight. They wouldn't have that luxury this time; these six were ruthless scum, which made her all the more eager to accept the quest. As a warden, she could teleport short distances if need be, even directly behind an opponent; the fel glaive that originally belonged to their father, technically the weapon of a shadow hunter, was deadly in her hands, though she'd learned to refrain from using it immediately in altercations. Quite often, the sight of it was enough to deter most opponents.

Giving her a hand signal to communicate the presence of three waking bandits and three sleeping ones, he continued to listen not only to the conversation but also the spirits in the area. His voodoo allowed him access to another world, a world unseen. For the uninitiated, trying to contact that world would often result in them being fed false information by mischevious, immature spirits in the area; for someone who could walk the line of life and death, those spirits would tell the truth, treating him as one of their own. It resulted in his tracking skills becoming a bit dulled as he relied on the spirit world, but that's part of why he and his sister made such a great team: no survivalist on all of Azeroth could match the natural tracking and observational skills of a warden. She had located the bandits and scoped out their defenses; he had sensed their exact positions and predicted their movements and reactions. Together, they'd already brought quite a few criminals to justice since he'd begun training her a few years prior.

"This one time, I found this...it was like a coin," slurred one of the bandits.

"Oh, but I bet it was actually a coin," replied his drunken comrade, nearly falling off of the crate he'd been using as a chair near their campfire.

"Yeah, it was some coin I found!" the first one responded excitedly, as if to punctuate their severe inebriation. This would be a totally unfair fight.

Nodding in agreement, brother and sister fell into slow, methodical action. Holding her shadowmeld, Sharimara moved in a half circle through the trees closest to the oblong boulder, knowing that due to their drinking the bandits probably wouldn't even notice the outline of a long eared female creeping up behind them. Despite her heavy plate armor, she moved without a sound, wielding the long, double bladed glaive of their father as if it weighed nothing as she held it out in front of her just in case one of the bandits jumped. They didn't, and once she moved in position, she crouched down low behind some bushes mere feet away from the drunken bandits and waited. Despite her prowess, she knew the order of battle and would defer to the more experienced sibling before engaging the targets.

"You know what I once saw? I once saw this kodo, and it was wearing a hat..."

"No way!"

"...on its head! Bahahahaha!"

"Animals should not try to act like people!" huffed the third bandit.

Listening to the spirits a little more closely, Navarion got a handle on their states of mind and exact dimensions. Of the waking bandits, two were orcs, one was a human,mall of them speaking Common. Factional animosity had died down so much that both an increase in world trade and the spreading of Common as the international language accompanied the expansion of multiracial criminal organizations. The almighty gold piece became the new supreme leader uniting different races, and this group had collaborated to steal plenty of them. Inside the tent for people, two more humans and a tauren slept. The tauren had his arms curled around what Navarion could sense as a square object, probably a box where they stashed many of their stolen gold coins. Everything was in place; there was no more reason to wait.

"Some coins are round, but you know what?"

"What?"

"I hear that the Forsaken use square coins."

"Get the hell out!"

"No, he's right, I've even seen one of them!"

"You're full of shit, Ron!"

Aiming his pistol carefully in the darkness so as to create as little disturbance as possible, Navarion lined up the sight with the legs of one of the orcs. At the angle the man was sitting at, the bullet would pierce one thigh, exit the other side and embed itself in his second thigh; he'd be incapacitated, which was one of the keys to taking out groups of people quickly and without deadly force.

Focusing after the man twitched to scratch an itch, Navarion felt that cold determination that had become so normal to him. Feeling neither pity nor spite, he squeezed the trigger, letting the loud bang sound off and watching the bullet tear through both of the man's thighs before any of them had a chance to react.

"Ambush!" cried the as of yet uninjured Orc just as Sharimara leapt from the bushes and hit him in the back of the neck, knocking him out cold.

His distress call was entirely unnecessary, as pandemonium broke out at the sound of the gunshot. The Orc who had been shot in both legs writhed around on the ground, too drunk to react properly and easily giving up. They donkeys brayed along with the orc's screaming, and the tauren and two humans in the tent rolled around and tripped over each other as they struggled to stand at the ready.

Holstering his pistol, Navarion charged forward just as Sharimara grabbed the wrist of the human at the campfire before he could reach for his dagger and lightly head butted him. Her warden helmet only covered the top half of her head, sort of like a mask, and the elven steel resonated against the human's skull as he hit the ground, conscious but just barely. Running straight past her, Navarion met the large but unarmored tauren as the bovine man exited the tent, slamming his elbow down on the top of the furry bandit's snout before he had a chance to react. Grabbing one horn in each of his hands, the shadow hunter twisted and spun the tauren around, sending him flying into the hard ground and dazing him enough that he just curled into a ball and raised his hands in surrender.

As was expected of at least some of the bandits, one of the humans in the tent made a run for it, triggering the stasis trap and quickly being pulled to the ground, unable to even lift a finger as the fel Magic of the ward pinned him in place. The entire assault had taken about six seconds, maybe even less, excluding the final human in the tent.

Aiming a cheap blunderbuss right at Navarion, the nervous human crouched and edged a little bit closer. "Don't move!" the much shorter man hissed, "and reach for the sky!"

Ever watchful, Sharimara relaxed her muscles but kept her grip on the glaive tight, ready to fling it and slice both of the human's hands off if necessary. A slight eye movement on her brother's part signaled for restraint; the human could be healed, but the punishment had to fit the crime; Horde officials and even certain provinces under the rule of the Sentinels might amputate one hand of a bandit, but not both.

"Put your hands up, mister!" cried out the visibly shaken human, giving away his lack of resolve.

Inside of Navarion, something sinister brewed. His chest had long ago frozen into an ice box as he shut out any semblance of feelings he may have once had, but something roused within him at the human's challenge. Something not good.

Glaring back at the bandit rifleman, Navarion elicited a gasp from the human and a tensing up from his sister as he stepped forward until the barrel of the blunderbuss was right against his chest. "Or what?" he growled at the human.

Gulping, the human glanced at his down allies, noticing that none of them were rising to help even when he had a gun pointed at their captors. A bead of sweat dripped down the man's forehead as the standoff ensued silently, and he quickly lost the staring contest. "Put your hands up or I'll blow your brains out!" he said a little more confidently.

Spirits whispered, and Navarion saw right through the man's act. A strange negativity radiated from the usually quiet, brooding man, surprising even his sister as he grabbed the barrel of the gun at lightning speed, causing the human to jump. "My brains are up here," he growled again, pulling the barrel up until the blunderbuss was aimed at his own forehead.

"You really better put your hands up!" the human shouted, trying to sound more defiant by simply raising his voice.

Sharimara held perfectly still. She'd have her brother's back in case the human really did become bold enough to shoot, but judging by the look in Navarion's eyes, he'd be daring the man holding the gun regardless of whether or not she was there. The human's supposedly focused facial expression was way too forced, and the trembling in his hands was too apparent.

"I'm not going to put my hands up," Navarion growled at him once more in a voice barely above a whisper, "so it seems like you'll have to shoot."

"I - I'm being serious mister!"

"So am I."

"And I'll take your head off with this thing! When I pull this trigger, you won't even have a chance to pull your own gun!"

"My gun is unloaded," Navarion confessed, almost causing his sister to facepalm right there in the middle of the standoff. "Go ahead. Shoot."

Licking his pursed lips, the scraggly haired bandit paused for a bit too long. "This is the last chance you get, mister-"

Before the man could finish his sentence, Navarion reached forward and pulled the lock on the flint blunderbuss, opening up the chamber so the round could actually be fired. "You rifle was locked. There, now you can actually shoot." There was a sort of dead look in his eyes as he spoke, not intentional but one that would certainly give any two-bit bandits pause.

"W...well, put your hands up."

"No. Just pull the trigger. Do what you claimed you were going to do." A pin drop could have been heard at the oasis as the eyes of the bandits who were still conscious fell on the tense exchange. When the human made no move, Navarion began to lose his patience. "Do it. Pull the trigger."

Still as a statue, the nervous human shook his head ever so slightly, an indication that he wouldn't actually follow through on his threat. In outwardly displayed anger, Navarion reached forward and backhanded the rifle-wielding bandit across the face. It wasn't hard enough to damage him, but certainly enough to taunt him.

"You don't want to do it? So many of you robbers and lowlifes out here in the Barrens have been brought to justice by the Hearthglen family. Here's your chance for revenge," he hissed at the human while unfastening the chainmail covering his chest. So many would kill for this chance and have killed to get it in the past; now you refuse it?" he asked sincerely, stepping forward and slapping the man across the face.

"I'm going to shoot you, mister!"

"Then do it! Do it! Take the shot! Stop talking and just take the shot!" the shadow hunter yelled, his voice echoing through the trees and scaring the donkeys.

When he stepped forward so much that the barrel of the gun was no longer aimed at him, he was able to tower over the much shorter bandit, getting right up in his face.

"I swear I'm going to shoot!"

For a second time, Navarion grabbed the barrel of the man's gun and swung it up, right beneath his own chin. "Here! You have the perfect shot right here! One squeeze of that trigger and you'll accomplish what dozens of others couldn't!" The human almost stumbled and fell over from the force with which Navarion grabbed the gun, and his finger nearly slipped on the trigger. "Right there! It's right there! You have the perfect shot right there!"

"No!"

The human's refusal wasn't as loud as Navarion's yelling, but it echoed throughout the trees of the oasis all the same. Motionless once more, his grip on the blunderbuss loosened until it fell limp in Navarion's hand and ended up tossed to the side, far away from the rest of the bandits. Defeated, the human knelt down and raised his hands, signaling his surrender.

Not needing any more prompting than that, Sharimara pushed past her brother and began binding the wrists and ankles of the bandits together with pieces of rope pilfered from their own camp. Navarion proved to be of little help during the cleanup, simply staring down the human rifleman who had challenged him. The much shorter being refused to make eye contact, cringing when the morose shadow hunter leaned down to him.

"You can't kill me," Navarion droned to him in a tired, weary voice. "I died a long time ago."

When all was said and done, the two donkeys had just barely enough energy to pull the wagon and the six bandits inside. The Orc who'd been shot through the legs had been healed and promptly hog tied and tossed in the back of the wagon like the rest of his compatriots. The folded up tents and stolen goods were stored back there as well, and once immobilized the bandits proved to be the perfect dead weights to prevent anything from flying out the back.

The ride from the isolated, unmarked oasis across one of Azeroth's largest regions was long and slow. Fortunately, brother and sister both had rented two raptors while accepting the quest back in the Crossroads. The donkeys followed the predatorial dinosaur mounts faithfully, allowing the siblings to ride out in front and have a bit of privacy. Still, one could never be too safe, and Sharimara switched to their father's language as she often did when she didn't want anyone to eavesdrop on her conversations.

"That was stupid," she chided her brother in Zandali. "Incredibly, massively stupid."

When he didn't reply, she didn't continue; it wasn't like her to ever rant or lecture people excessively. Were it Issinia, the middle sister, who had partnered with him, he likely wouldn't hear the end of it. The youngest sister of the six Hearthglen children, however, wasn't that type.

Dawn was quickly approaching by the time the denizens of the Crossroads began to stir, and most of the bandits had resigned themselves to sleeping atop each other and the spoils that were once theirs. Like most of them, they resigned themselves to surrender once it was clear that they didn't have a chance to escape. The ride back was a quiet one.

Far off in the distance, one of the grunts on night shift spotted the approaching stolen wagon along with the somewhat familiar brother sister duo who often represented the family throughout the Barrens on capture quests such as these. In a world of scarce resources and poor communications, contracting out the work of tracking and catching criminals on the run was much easier than sending out government troops to do so. Relief and thumbs up greeted the duo from afar as they approached the crowded trade city.

Not wanting to waste her breath but not wanting to give up either, Sharimara leaned over to Navarion and tried to break through his stubbornly thick skull again. "I'm catching a flight home by eight o'clockat the latest," she told him flatly in Zandali. "Don't dawdle, but I'm not waiting for you if you do." Tough love was often the only thing that worked on the surly oldest brother, although she was the only one aside from their godmother that ever gave it. Coddling a forty two year old man wouldn't do any good, as she often reminded their siblings.

She could only hope that his depressed, destructive behavior wouldn't rear its ugly head again when in a rather wild city like the Crossroads. Not that Ratchet didn't have the more wild districts, but at least there the family could moderate his actions. In a place like the Crossroads, more or less anything goes.


	3. Revelation

Before she had even descended the staircase of the family's three story estate to have breakfast, Sharimara already knew what to expect from the rest of her family. Striding down the hallway on the ground floor, she quickly found the other relatives currently staying at home all seated around the table on the extra large chairs constructed to support the weight of the extra large family members. Anathil, Issinia and Zengu, her oldest and middle sisters and middle brother respectively, were all abroad either on work or at the homes of their spouses, living at the main Hearthglen household in Ratchet only part of the year. Their house was almost like a traveler's waystation, with any number of empty beds at any given time and various different family members staying at various different times throughout the year.

At that given time of year, a few others happened to live in the household aside from herself. Tiondel, her 'twin' brother who was a pureblooded night elf, had been adopted at a birthing compound the day she had been born herself, but was as much a Hearthglen as the rest of them. Though he had the long, more slender ears of an elf, the voodoo tattoos that covered his body for protection from curses and fel magics, the super short shaved hair and the sharp chin beard spoke of someone closer to Darkspear in culture than Kaldorei. Venjai, the teenage son of Anathil and her husband Tan'jin, happened to be staying at Ratchet that summer to spend time with his grandparents while his parents were away on business, functioning as representatives for the family. Both the rare herbs they grew out back as well as the purebred, anti-magic faerie dragons they raised out back functioned as the main source of income for the household, along with the auction house activity of Irien, the industrious night elf godmother of the siblings. One of the few constants in the household, she sat toward the head of the table along with her longtime best friends and surrogate family, the Hearthglen parents.

The anchors of the household, Sharimara's parents didn't notice her enter at first. Years of retirement from active adventuring had caused them to relax much more than Sharimara herself, letting them find a sort of calmness that was the envy of others who walked the path that the two war veterans once did. As big as ever, her father sat at one side of the head of the table and shoveled beans and rice into his mouth with an oversized stirring spoon. One of the few Darkspear jungle trolls to have dropped out of the Horde, old Khujand had become something of an oddity for the local community. Most trolls had an average lifespan of only sixty years; Khujand had passed seventy and although his mane and beard had turned grey, he was still in great health considering his extreme age for his race. Voodoo and alchemy according to the local rumors, but that didn't prevent the Hearthglen children and grandchildren from constantly monitoring his health and diet.

Next to him sat the head of the household and one of the fixture's of those inhabitants of Ratchet who weren't simply migrant workers. At twelve thousand, one hundred and seventy three years old, Cecilia Hearthglen was one of the world's last remaining night elves who had lived before the fabled War of the Ancients. She had watched civilizations rise and fall, basic amenities such as sliced bread and aqueducts be invented and had witnessed numerous demonic and undead invasions of the world. She was a living, walking, breathing history book and their house constantly accepted a stream of visitors of both night elves passing through the port and even others who had simply heard of the living library and wanted to ask a hundred and one questions. Settled in to her old age despite having been a warrior of the night for so many millennia, Cecilia not only answered all questions patiently but even seemed to revel in the respect shown to her even by total strangers, knowing full well that after ten thousand years of defending the planet as an immortal warrior, she'd earned the easy lifestyle and warm admiration from her people that she now possessed.

Venjai, ever the precocious fifteen year old boy, was the first to speak up before Sharimara even had the opportunity to sit down. "You slept for a really long time, auntie," he remarked a little too loudly while handing her a plate of cucumbers and tomatoes.

Her parents continued chatting quietly and coyly like newly weds, but her godmother immediately took notice of the empty chair. Although Irien had long been retired from adventuring just like Sharimara's parents, she was still biologically young for an elf - she'd been born during their people's immortality and thus didn't begin to age until after the World Tree had fallen - and hpboth her wit and her discriminating eyes had remained sharp. At first, she refrained from comment, but Sharimara knew that her ever watchful godmother, the keen eyed sharpshooter, was listening and waiting.

"This last quest was a long one," the warden replied plainly, not wanting to go too far down that line of discussion.

Covering her tomatoes and cucumbers with some olive oil and white cheese, Sharimara used a piece of Kaldorei bread baked from ground acorn meal to scoop up her meal and eat it a handful at a time. Irien continued to watch the halfbreed giantess while sipping on some iced tea, and even Tiondel noticed the tension in the air. After another minute of eating or so, and their godmother spoke up.

"You've been home for a few days," Irien remarked. She was never passive aggressive or mean to her godchildren, but she had a tendency to be a little brusque when it came to the delinquent oldest son. "Have you heard from Navarion at all?"

Wishing she could sink into her chair, she shook her head. "I haven't seen him yet," she replied, her mouth full of vegetables, bread and cheese.

Much stricter than their parents if well meaning, Irien waited for the warden to finish chewing before she spoke again. "And you mentioned that you flew back here on your own?" the retired sharpshooter and current businesswoman asked. Her voice wasn't particularly pointed or insistent, but the children had learned that the third person responsible for raising them would eventually ring whatever information she wanted out of them, given enough time. There wasn't much use in trying to fool crazy 'aunt' Irien.

"I flew back here on my own, yes," Sharimara replied demurely in between bites of cucumber slices.

At that comment, Cecilia's ears perked up. Quite often the household was so busy that family members could show up for visits without being able to greet everyone on the first day. Everybody had tasks to do, everybody contributed, and nobody just sat around. It was theoretically possible that Navarion had been home the whole time and their mother simply hadn't seen him even by breakfast on the third day back, and nobody may have had the time to ask anybody else.

Her interest had been piqued, however. Since most night elves of her generation had already died of old age, Cecilia had become a little possessive of her children despite them all being grown, knowing that she didn't have much longer to spend time with the family she'd waited for twelve millennia to raise. Sharimara and Tiondel, the two youngest, were both thirty six years old and she still treated them as if they were minors. The whole family knew that neither she nor their father had many years left to live regardless of their good health, and constant closeness held great importance to them. Thus, even the thought of her powerful and rather dangerous shadow hunter son being outside the home and unaccounted for, immediately caused her concern.

"Shari...you don't know where your older brother is?" Cecilia asked, a sincere sadness written on her face.

Much of the family's energy was spent on keeping their mother happy and comfortable, and the sound of her voice immediately caused the concern to spread. Khujand looked at Sharimara expectantly, his arm wrapped around Cecilia's shoulder.

"I do; he's still at the Crossroads," she lied, not being absolutely sure. "I think he just needed a break." She held her breath while her mother mulled it over mentally, hoping the matriarch would accept the story.

Chewing slowly on a handful of grapes, Cecilia looked down at her plate for a moment before swallowing. "He can take a break from work here at home," the ancient elf stated, firmly but not sternly. "There's no reason for him to be spending that much time away when he's so close." Of course he'd eventually be home, and half of the siblings spent upwards of half the year away from Ratchet, but they always came back whenever they had free time. To stay only half a day's travel away at the Crossroads for no reason almost felt like an affront to the family.

Silently cursing Navarion's stupidity, Sharimara tried to quell their mother's concerns and resigned herself to reminding him that he owed her later on. "There was another mass wedding held by a charity for some of the poorer farmers in the area when we were there...that might have caused delays at the flight point." She continued eating after that, hoping that she'd played it off properly.

"It's been three days, hasn't it?" Irien asked, her firmer resolve when dealing with the oldest son as opposed to the other siblings apparent. "He really should be back by now."

Seeing the opportunity to relieve their mother's mind so early in the evening, Tiondel interjected before Sharimara could speak. "We'll go fetch him after breakfast," the youngest brother suggested. "He'll be back in time for dinner."

Khujand raised an eyebrow at his youngest son. "Do ya got work taday, Del?"

"No, my weekend isn't consecutive this time. I have Mondays and then Thursdays off for the next month." Their father satisfied that the alchemy shop where Tiondel had replaced him as the trainer would be taken care off, the pureblooded night elf covered in jungle troll tattoos leaned over to his sister. "I can be ready right away."

"I'll go too," Irien added, much to Sharimara's chagrin and Cecilia's relief.

"Make sure he isn't getting into too much trouble," Cecilia asked of Irien, a reference to the tendency of Navarion's occasional volatile behavior when straying too far from the alcohol-free household.

A form of silent communication passed between the two older night elf women as Irien grinned wordlessly. Eventually, Cecilia smiled back, conceding to some sort of old inside joke they never let anyone else in on.

"Can I go too?" Venjai asked. His tone of voice implied that he already knew the answer, but the teen seemed compelled to ask anyway.

"Ya still gotta help me and ya grandma prepare tha firebloom shipment for those reagant sellers from Gadgetzan, yeah?" Khujand stated to more than asked the jade haired young Hearthglen.

Grumbling in disappointment, Venjai slumped and shoveled in another mouthful of food and resigned himself to gardening duty. The rest of the meal passed without incident aside from light chatting about community news and the latest happenings among the extended family and network of friends, the general day to day topics that occupied the members of the household.

Even so many decades after the factional wars had ceased, certain prejudices died hard. Long ago had the night elves dropped out of the Alliance to form their own faction, the Sentinels, just as they originally had before joining. It was around that time that the Forsaken also dropped out of the Horde, returning Azeroth to the old four-faction system it had bore at the time of the Third War. The Steamwheedle Cartel hung in the background as a sort of neutral go between, but by and large even orcs and humans were getting along well enough to cooperate, especially when money was involved.

Of course, not everybody was so accepting. And on that particular night at the Crossroads, when most traffic had died down, the Orcish chimaera tamer who normally ran a service route from the Crossroads to Ratchet just wouldn't believe that Tiondel, a night elf by genetics, could possibly hold a stronger cultural connection to the Horde than the Sentinels.

"Help a brother out, man," Tiondel pleaded, displaying a patience that wasn't usually for his hotheaded, more troll-like nature.

The older Orc gentleman folded his arms while sitting atop his platform at the tauren style chimaera roost, not rude enough to just walk away but certainly not willing to oblige. "Why don't you help me out, brother," the Orc replied, using politically correct language and perhaps holding back what he really wanted to say. "I've already run back and forth today. This might come as a surprise to you, but most of us here at the Crossroads like to sleep at night."

Sure enough, by the time the trio had flown from Ratchet to the Crossroads, the sun had set and hours and hours had passed. The Barrens were as large as Ashenvale, and crossing even between the two major urban areas in the entire region took quite a bit of time.

Holding his tongue for a moment, Tiondel tried again, leaving Sharimara and Irien to stand just out of earshot by the central inner city hills of the Crossroads where the flight points towered over all other buildings in the town of mostly Orcish structures. "Look, I understand that. You want to sleep? I'm not ignorant of that. What I'm offering you - look, here," he added quickly while flashing his coin purse. "That's what you could make in an entire day tomorrow plus the fee for the flight now. I know you can't go more than once to Ratchet and back in a day - there's no time."

"So you pay me what I could already earn tomorrow anyway even if I just slept now, and I don't get to sleep now, all because you think your case is special?" the chimaera tamer asked. He spoke without rudeness but his incredulity even irked Sharimara from her listening point down the hill, and she almost wished her more even tempered nephew had come along - she had a temper similar to Tiondel's, and Irien had a tendency to be a bit blunt in general.

Surprisingly, Tiondel kept his cool again. "Look, I'll even throw in some extra."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to do it."

"I know that!" the youngest Hearthglen brother shot back, and Sharimara cringed. She couldn't see the chimaera tamer from her vantage point, but she worried that his reaction to a customer being so demanding might push him just a little too hard. "That's why I'm asking you if you'll help us out. My brother is hammered and not in a condition to fly on his own - a wyvern won't do it. We need something large enough for two people-"

"Or else you'll have to wait until the morning," the Orc said, finishing Tiondel's sentence for him. "You're basically asking me to inconvenience myself so your family isn't inconvenienced. That's your request."

"And I'll pay you extra to do that. Plus you have the choice of taking tomorrow off work knowing that you've already earned your daily wage, or you can choose to stay up and make extra money. You have that freedom." There was a brief pause after Tiondel's version of explaining the situation, and Irien almost left her vantage point to walk up the platform and probably spoil things before Sharimara stopped her. The rustle of Tiondel's coin purse reached their ears from behind the smaller wyvern roosts they were standing behind.

"I'll wait for ten minutes. That's all you get. Ten minutes and you haul his drunk ass over here. And I'm only helping to load him, not to haul him," the chimaera tamer sighed, slumping back into his chair.

"Thank you, sir. Blood and thunder." Although Sharimara couldn't see the orc's face, she imagined he was confused as all hell to see a short haired man who looked like a night elf but was covered in Darkspear tattoos talking like a Hordie.

A few seconds later and the youngest brother had joined the two Hearthglen women, who had both decided to stand a bit away so as to avoid berating the sleepy tamer of extra large mounts and losing their chance. Though they hadn't actually seen Navarion yet, he'd disappeared for a few days like this before, and every time they found him drunk as a skunk and too inebriated to fly a mount by himself. The chimaera were native war monsters of both the tauren and the night elves, and were large enough both for the tamer to drive one and tie another person plus some cargo on the creature's back. Experience had told them to seek out the tamer as soon as they landed, knowing it was late and transporting their brother via a ground route would quite literally take more than a day of nonstop traveling - which none of them had the energy for.

The three of them all stood in a circle for a moment, knowing they'd only have ten minutes to find him after half a day's travel and then another half day of travel to get back home. It was a ridiculous, laborious task for a grown man, though by that point Sharimara felt like she was doing it for their mother more than anybody else.

After a few more second, she was the first one to talk. "We don't have much time to find him and drag him here. Should we start with Larkha's Joint?"

"That's usually where he goes," Tiondel sighed.

Suspicion and shock crept into Irien's expression. Although most of the family knew of Navarion's problems and did their best to keep he most volatile of the siblings in check, there were certain things they tried to hide from their parents and their godmother. "Usually? What do you mean? Has he been coming here habitually during your quests?" She obviously didn't mean to accuse Sharimara of anything, but the sense of finding out some sort of a secret was there.

"That's not what Del meant, auntie," the youngest Hearthglen sister sighed. "But we can discuss his habits later. Right now, we're losing time."

"I really would like to discuss that later, but mainly with him. Let's get going."

The Crossroads had ballooned over the decades. The overwhelming majority of its inhabitants at any given time were merely transients, similar to how much of Ratchet's population consisted of temporary workers and merchants. The Crossroads were crowded, but nobody complained; everything travelers and locals needed was compact and close together. It only took a few minutes to find the posthumously named Larkha's Joint tucked away toward the industrial district, a favorite haunt of tired laborers and craftspeople looking to unwind and enjoy cheap lager. The place was quiet and subdued for a bar full of blue collar workers, almost boring, but that also meant it was a bit safer.

The moment Sharimara and Tiondel walked in, the Orcish bartender recognized them and flagged them down. "Hey, Hearthglens...nice to finally have you here," the bartender greeted them as they walked in. Her outfit was as drab as the sparse decorations in the place, and most of the patrons still there at that hour merely chatted quietly, as if they were paranoid about their conversations being overheard. By the standards of most taverns, the atmosphere was nearly depressing. "He's in the hole."

"The hole?" Irien asked pointedly, her indignance at what her godson had gotten himself in to already showing.

"It's just a safe place they stick people who've had enough and need some time to sober up," Sharimara tried to explain as the three of them walked unattended through two singing saloon doors into a long hallway in the back of the establishment.

The place was eerily empty and even lonely. The walls of the hallway had no pictures or even mirrors, and the doors looked so old that they may have been scavenged from other buildings. At the very end of the hall, the silent trio found the door mostly shut. When Tiondel tried to open it, it banged into his unconscious older brother's foot, but didn't wake the hammered shadow hunter up.

"You'll hurt his foot if you push any more," Irien remarked, immediately observing the awkward position despite never having seen the room before.

"Can you reach in the opening and grab him by the ankle?" Sharimara asked Irien. "We can hold the door open. Just enough for your wrists and then you can toss his foot to the side."

"Yes, just give me a second."

It was an awkward position, but by squatting on the floor Irien could reach through and grab Navarion's foot to sort of shove it aside enough for them to get the door open. The room known as 'the hole' was nothing more than a small broom closet with no brooms. The shelves were stocked with ageing cleaning products and toilet paper, and a mattress with no sheets occupied most of the floor for those who had drunk enough to pass out. The tavern had a reputation for taking care of its regulars, and that reputation made up for the fact that they sold cheap, low quality drink. Navarion's armor was mostly fastened and he looked healthy - just passed out - and without injury. His holster remained on his belt, but his gun had been stolen along with his ammo bag. His own fault, Sharimara thought as she tried not to let it show how much it upset her to see her brother in such a miserable, self-destructive state.

Irien wasn't as masterful at containing herself the way elven mores typically dictated. "What the fuck?" she asked the unconscious grown man rhetorically. "What the...what is this!"

"Well...he drank until he passed out and had to be dragged into a broom closet to sober up on an old mattress," Sharimara replied, immediately cursing herself for how completely wrong that came out of her mouth.

"What the f...how much did he have to drink?" Immediately, Irien spun to the two youngest siblings, not quite accusatory but very, very serious. "How long has this been going on for?"

"That depends on what you mean by 'going on,' exactly," Sharimara replied, trying to work her large frame inside the closet to stand over her oldest brother and slide his body out backward, legs first, toward her youngest brother.

"How long has it been since he started drinking again? He was supposed to have quit years ago," Irien asked a little more directly.

"Technically, he never stopped," Tiondel confessed while carefully pulling Navarion out of the closet by the feet in order to avoid letting his body bang against any hard surfaces.

"What do you mean he never stopped? He's supposed to have been sober for years!"

"That didn't last very long," Tiondel continued to confess. Sharimara just cradled her brother's head as the other two lifted his body by the limbs to move him out of the closet entirely, not wanting to be the one to rat Navarion out. "He had already begun drinking again before he even came back."

"Came back? Came back from wh..." Irien's voice trailed off as she reached some sort of epiphany, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're talking about...the silithid eradication campaign? Eight years ago?"

"Yes. He wrote home saying he'd gone sober. Apparently, he'd broken that pledge before he even came back. He just hides it very well." Tiondel was never a tattletale and certainly not a rat, but there was a morose, weary sound in his voice, almost as if he had accepted the oldest brother's bad habits as a given. "Any time he can get away from Ratchet, he tends to overstate the amount of time he needs to finish work so he can binge."

"Shit, Del," Sharimara let out involuntarily, not so much upset at him as upset at the situation, to hear her brother's misery articulated out loud.

"No, no! This is family business! Why wasn't this brought to me attention earlier?" Irien scolded both siblings as the three of them formed a close but efficient triangle to carry Navarion out. Sharimara was taller than him, but he was heavier and even she and Tiondel would have trouble carrying him without help.

"Because we feared you'd be so judgmental and shaming toward him that it would cause him to become defiant and then things would only get worse," Tiondel replied as bluntly and wearily as he had before. Brutal honesty was not usually a personality trait of his, but in this situation it was rather welcome; few of the siblings had the guts to give Irien such straight talk.

"Wha...me? I'm not even that far away from you guys maturity wise!" Irien admitted, probably not realizing how much she'd regret saying that in front of Sharimara later. "If you can't talk to me, then who can you talk to?"

When the group finally exited the cramped hallway, they were able to move more freely and thus more quickly. Nobody in the tavern even looked up at them, as if people so drunk that they had to be carried out were a normal sight. It only added to the depressing nature of the situation, as if finding one's own brother passed out on a mattress in a closet of a seedy bar wasn't bad enough. Once they had moved out through the two swinging doors leading into the porch and then the little side street, they were able to talk freely again.

"Well?" Irien asked expectantly as the three of them heaved the still unconscious brother down the street.

"Well, what, auntie? What sort of answer are you expecting? And how will it help us get him home?" Sharimara asked just as expectantly, going out on a limb and risking her godmother's wrath.

A tense silence overtook the group for a few seconds. None of them every spoke to Irien that way. She wasn't an actual parent, but was the best friend of their parents, had been cohabiting with them since before any of the Hearthglen kids were born and would, as was understood but unspoken, remain a part of the household even after Cecilia and Khujand passed on. Thus, there was a great deal of love and respect for her, but also a measure of fear there.

Yet the logic in Sharimara's words couldn't be denied. After staring the young half elf down until she looked away, Irien answered tersely. "Alright, then...what do we do? If this has been going on for a while, then whatever solutions have come so far haven't worked. Something needs to change. What have you guys tried so far?"

"Telling him it's wrong. Threatening to rat on him. Trying to trick him into coming home early from questions." Tiondel rolled off the list as if he weren't even interested, speaking as if he thought the whole exercise was futile.

"He won't care, doing that would hurt your mother, and he's tricker and more dishonest than the rest of you," Irien shot back. "Um...how did all this start? Was there a reason? Some sort of cause that can be eliminated?"

"He always drank even though mom doesn't allow it. But it got really bad after he first tried to quit eight years ago," Tiondel replied in between heaves.

"So trying to quit and failing might have discouraged him," Sharimara thought out loud just as they came into view of the platform of the chimaera roost. The sleepy eyed Orc was still there, watching and waiting for them but not lifting a finger to help.

"Then what caused him to fail in the first place?" Irien surmised out loud. "That's the question. If we find the answer, we might be able to get him to straighten out his act."

Once at the platform, the tamer roused one of his disgruntled, two headed chimaera from its slumber and mounted up. With much difficulty, they managed to lay Navarion's body stomach-down across the chimaera's back and strap him on securely. Any questions about his situation could be answered once they were home. For the time being, the three sober members of the household hopped on to their wyverns and flew around the chimaera in formation, hoping Navarion would sober up enough by the time they arrived to keep their parents in the dark about what was going on with him.

Sharimara stood at the door of the Ratchet Literary Club, carrying a shipment of blank journals they'd ordered in bulk from Irien. Always the active businesswoman, she'd responded quickly when Valmar, the undead Forsaken who had founded the club along with her, had requested a bulk shipment of journals as if it were some sort of emergency. How on Azeroth that could be an emergency was beyond her, but she'd been resting for a few days and as always, anybody without work to do at the Hearthglen household was given work.

"Yes, I'm coming," sounded off the very clear, very alive sounding voice from inside that was none other than the deadman himself. How a night elf like Irien or her mother Cecilia, for that matter, could be close friends with a Forsaken was beyond the young warden, but if there was any place where such a friendship would be possible, it was Ratchet.

"Come on, the crate is heavy!"

The door swung open, and there stood the fully covered undead himself. From head to toe, everything was concealed; Valmar tended to dress well in order to compensate for his appearance, and aside from his very alive looking eyes, nothing was visible. Expensive fur clothing and suede boots and gloves accentuated the tin mask he wore. Due to his voice, eyes and posture, one might think he was a human, but there was an aura about him that spoke of undeath which the man never could conceal. Valmar was very much Forsaken, even if he was Forsaken with style.

"Shari, so good to see you!" he greeted her warmly while stepping aside for her to enter the library. Few people in a goblin port city ever visited the library, but the efforts of a few active members of the literary club kept it open. It was a small building cramped wall to wall with shelves, and for someone larger than human-sized movement was difficult. Valmar himself was rather large for a Forsaken, but he could certainly maneuver better than her and gladly took the crate off her hands. "And thank you so much for coming at this time of night. I know it technically may be a bit earlyfor you," he joked.

"It's alright, Valmar. This is for a friend, not business," she sighed while following him to the back of the small library. "It seems like you guys keep the place well stocked."

Not quite noticing as he set the crate down next to already unopened boxes of diaries, pencils and erasers, the deadman ran a quick count. "Hmm, quite. Always ready for anything..."

"Is there anything else, or are you all set?" Sharimara asked, eager to visit some of her friends that evening.

Clearing his throat despite not having saliva, Valmar turned to face her. Even through the tin mask, it was obvious that something was on his mind; he was a rather easy person to read. "I must confess, young Miss Hearthglen, there is something else."

"I thought so," she sighed, wondering what on Azeroth the man could possibly want.

When he sat on a chair, she sat down on the large crate; it was an awkward angle trying to face him in the corner of the library but it was more comfortable than the human and Orc sized chairs that were too small for her. Dramatic as always, Valmar adjusted the fur cloak he wore to one side and looked her straight in the eye, giving her a look that he probably thought was solemn but ended up coming off as him overacting.

"How is your brother?" he asked a little too plainly.

He must have heard from Irien, Sharimara thought. "Well, Irien found out that he's a closet alcoholic and has been for a few years. And we're still hiding it from our parents because we kind of don't know what to do about it. I'm assuming you're concerned about his wellbeing?"

Rather than tell her what she expected, the deadman threw her a curveball. "No, I'm not that concerned about Navarion's wellbeing to be frank. He has plenty of people to take care of him and should be thankful for that," Valmar replied. His voice was plain and direct again, but this time he didn't sound like he was acting. "There is something else regarding him I felt you should know, however. Something significant." He promptly began searching through the drawers of an old desk for something, leaving her to sit there in silence and in the dark about what he wanted to show her.

After a few more seconds of searching, Valmar pulled out two letters. One of them looked aged, obviously several years old, and the other one was newer. Both bore the seal of the Cenarion Circle, the neutral organization responsible for regulating Druidic practices and training.

"My brother is secretly an alcoholic Druid?" Sharimara joked, not knowing what else to say.

"What? He...no, no, these aren't from him, nor are they addressed to him," Valmar replied, not getting the joke at all. "Shari, do you remember who Zorena is?"

Thinking back for a minute, a vague image popped into her head. "Oh...yes, I think I do. She was this tauren lady who served with my parents in that alternate timeline war. Her brother died years ago and we went to the funeral, that was the last time I saw her." Furrowing her short eyebrows, Sharimara tried to figure out the point of it all. "Is she...did she pass away, too? Is that why my brother is drinking so much?" It was a long shot but at that point, she had no idea what the whole point of the discussion could be.

Valmar looked at her and then the two letters in his hands as if hesitating. "No...she's alive and well. But she..." Pausing for another moment, he shuffled the two letters in his hand. "I think you should read these yourself. Things will make more sense that way."

"Alright, if you insist," she answered warily while accepting the first, older letter from Valmar.

And then she read it.

And read it a second time.

And then a third time.

When her anger rose, she put it down for a minute and then read it for a fourth time.

Then Valmar handed her the more recent letter, which she only needed to read once.

When all was said and done, Sharimara just sat there on the crate, almost numb.

"That's a lot...those are some things I really did not know," she sighed, staring blankly at the floor.

"I can hold on to these here for safe keeping," Valmar said quietly while placing the two letters back into the desk drawer. "Perhaps you should go home and sleep on it. Think it over. But you only have a few days to make a decision - an odd twist of fate, it is, that the second letter arrived today, so soon after his most recent episode."

Standing up and not knowing where to put her hands, Sharimara felt strange to be numb at a moment like that. "Right...right, I think I'll do that. But I'll be in touch...very soon."

"If you need assistance, I'll be here," he called after her as she walked out.

"I'm going to take you up on that...I have a feeling we'll need help at some point," she called back.

Much of the night passed in monotony. When the day came, she didn't end up getting much sleep as she tossed and turned in bed, wondering what the hell Navarion had been doing.


	4. The Truth

"You look like you haven't been sleeping well, dear."

Ever the clingy, possessive mother and the exact polar opposite of what her reputation had been in her days as a sentinel, Cecilia spent much of the evening fawning over Sharimara after breakfast. The drowsy look in the young warden's glowing silver eyes certainly wouldn't go unnoticed, not by her mother. The two of them hadn't even been feeding the faerie dragons for long before Cecilia had taken notice.

"It was just one night was all, mom," Sharimara replied, trying her best to play it off. "I'll work through the day on coffee and come the morning, I'll hit the bed like a rock."

"That's the spirit, dear. But if there's something on your mind, you know you can always tell me." The two of them continued feeding the specially grown tulips to the anti-magical creatures in the back garden for another moment, going through the daily routine required for rearing the guard animals that had made the family particularly well known to the Sentinels, even so far away from current night elven lands. "Is it a boy? Did you finally meet somebody that gives you late day jitters?" Cecilia asked cheekily.

"Boy? Mom, I'm thirty six years old!"

"You're so easy to tease on that point, dear. But I'm glad you're not in a rush or anything," the ancient elf chuckled, smiling at her youngest daughter while watching one of the faerie dragons do a small dance for the tulips. In a flash, her expression became a bit serious. "Honestly though, I only have five grandkids right now. Please let me know when you're ready to give us more."

"I will mom," Sharimara replied, unable to stifle her laugh despite being annoyed by the constant questions regarding her non existent love life.

Unlike the other Hearthglen kids, Sharimara had no intention to ever move out while her parents were still alive. So little time from her long lifespan would be spent with them; she needed to enjoy them while she could. Like Irien, she could worry about her own relationships once they were...gone.

Not that she considered her siblings selfish; her parents loved seeing them move on to be successful. But at least one of them would need to stick around along with their godmother to help keep their parents happy and constantly around others.

Just at that thought, Navarion stepped out onto the back porch. Hiding her frown, Sharimara tried to ignore the act he put on for their mother.

"Mom, I dropped a glass in the kitchen while doing the dishes. I'm going to go buy a new one from that glazier downtown."

"Oh, thank you, dear! We might need a few extra anyway; perhaps another three, just general glasses?" Cecilia asked. She looked at her oldest son as if he were the most responsible man in the world, and while none of the siblings had ever viewed him as such, Sharimara looked toward him even more suspiciously than usual.

She only had to wait just a little longer. Once he had walked back through the house, she would need to spring into action. There would only be a short window for the isolation plan to work out, and for her to get to the bottom of what exactly was happening. Not wanting their mother to suspect anything, she continued playing with the faerie dragons for a few more minutes even after Navarion had left. Once she felt sufficient time had passed, she easily excused herself.

"Well, mom, I have to go check on the repairs for my gauntlets. They should be nearing completion now and I want to stay on top of those guys at the shop on the south side." She stood up to leave as nonchalantly as she could, giving her mother a peck on the temple as she did.

"Alright dear. Remember to send your nephew out here if you see him; we need to show him how to measure the right amount of water for the nightshade," Cecilia called back after her, not removing her eyes from the dancing ethereal creatures in their garden.

Once inside the house, Sharimara broke from a slow trot to a bolt of lightning, looping her arm around the banister and bounding up the stairs like the silent bounty huntress she was. She'd only have a few minutes to rally her unsuspecting partners in deception before their father finished cleaning the attic and came downstairs. Starting from the top floor - the most dangerous floor since her parents' bedroom was there - she sprang into action and barged into Irien's bedroom uninvited.

The sharpshooter had just finished getting dressed for the evening - the beginning of the family's waking period - and looked more than a little perturbed at the intrusion.

"No time! Most important conversation of our lives! Explain on the way!" Sharimara stammered quietly while trying to usher her godmother out of the room.

"Hey! What the!"

"Trust me now, if you ever do in your life!" the warden hushed out again, not entirely making sense but hoping that her urgent demeanor would make the point understood.

When Irien at least exited her bedroom, Sharimara didn't wait and bolted down the stairs toward the bedroom of the male children and grandchildren staying at the house at any given time. Knocking first out of propriety, she opened the door to find Tiondel combing his already buzzed hair.

"Stop wasting time! Most important convo ever!" she whispered while pulling him out into the hallway. He shot her a dirty look but said nothing and simply waited for her to say more. "We only have a few minutes to set up an intervention for Navarion! I'll explain on the way!"

Irien had caught up to them on the second floor and looked both cautious and interested. "Are you sure being so direct will work with him? He might just bullshit his way out of it with promises of changing like he's done before," their godmother sighed skeptically.

"Auntie, there's no time!" Sharimara pleaded while jumping up and down like an overgrown child. "Please, please, please come now and I'll explain on the way! Before dad comes downstairs!"

Huffing somewhat, Irien had already started descending the staircase before Sharimara finished her mini-tantrum. "Explain away, Shari, and this better be good. I didn't even get to read the gazette yet."

Tiondel followed without a word, and after unceremoniously telling Venjai that he had more work to do out back, the three of them hurried from the winding slope down from the bluffs into Ratchet proper. Even at night, the streets were busy both in the residential districts and in the numerous different commercial districts on the way to the library. It was all Sharimara could do to try and keep her two companions trusting that her plan would yield fruit without telling them the whole truth in public.

"I know why Navarion has been binging and partying for the past eight years," she told them hurriedly while dodging a gaggle of gnomes trying to sell them all different kinds of cheeses. "I don't even suspect why, I know why, and I'm going to show you in the library."

"You could just tell us now so we're not running around in the dark, here," Tiondel grumbled, stepping over a stone faced goblin bruiser who didn't even seem to notice.

"It won't make sense until you see it all in Zorena's handwriting. Just trust me on this, I promise it will all be clear in just a few minutes."

"Zorena? From back on Draenor?" Irien asked incredulously. She'd only remember the tauren healer from meeting her once or twice on the alternate timeline version of another planet and a funeral more than a decade before, and it was apparent in her face that she thought the explanation made absolutely no sense at all. They rounded a corner on a steep side street as Sharimara grunted her affirmation, but their godmother wasn't satisfied. "Is your brother pining for a tauren woman older than your father?"

"No, definitely not! But just wait! You'll see!"

A few more unsuccessful attempts on both of their parts to guess later and they were in front of the library. A candle had been lit inside and Sharimara led them through the front door, finding Valmar already waiting for them, wearing a cheetah skin cloak and cowl that was actually part of one of his cheaper outfits.

"Where is he?" the deadman dead panned, asking about the unsuspecting oldest brother.

"At the third glazier's shop on fifth street, three blocks over. She should still be there if you go now."

"Valmar, what the hell is going on?" Irien asked her co-founder at the literary club, though she had no success there either.

"You have to trust us, Lady Rainsong. All will be revealed before I even return with your godson here." At that, the Forsaken left and closed the door behind him, leaving the trio there inside the library.

Crossing her arms, Irien looked like she was forcing herself to be patient. Generally, she was with all her godchildren, but her tongue sticking into her cheek signaled that she was ready for answers. "Alright, from the beginning," she demanded politely as Sharimara passed her toward the desk in the back corner.

Flipping through the drawers, she easily found the two letters and pulled a few chairs near the still unopened crate of empty journals at the back. "You two better sit down," she strongly advised as they followed her back, "and just read this in your own. Here's the first one, from eight years ago."

Obviously eager to learn what was going on, Irien and Tiondel both sat down next to each other and read the first letter at the same time. Irien lip sync he'd to the words as she read, an odd contrast to Tiondel who sat as motionless as an ice sculpture. Then they read the letter again, and again. When Sharimara shoved the second letter under their noses, they didn't even look up at her and started reading that one as well.

For a long time afterward, the three of them just sat there, staring into their laps and considering what had to happen next. They'd only have a few minutes before Valmar returned, and they had to formulate an intervention plan in that span of time.

Not before, of course, the obligatory 'holy shit' from Irien.

Navarion nearly knocked over a few goblins carrying buckets of nails and bolts, unused to balancing drinking glasses like that. The glazier hadn't been able to offer a container for the cups, and the shadow hunter had to resort to balancing them in his arms while trying to keep up with his unencumbered family friend.

"So you say Shari and Del are planning this quest...to Feralas?" he asked while waiting for an overburdened quilboar water carrier to pass by on a narrow street.

"That's what they say, apparently," Valmar replied. The usually verbose and eloquent undead was speaking in an uncharacteristically terse manner that night, and Navarion had already begun to suspect that there was more to this meeting at the library.

Wary of a possible lecture about his occasional social drinking, he tried to formulate a series of responses in his head in order to get his siblings off his back. There were numerous answers he'd already prepared in his head, but he only had another minute or so to organize them - if that was indeed what his family planned on doing. They'd never know how much he did care for them, but their judgmentalism and straight edge lifestyle wasn't doing him any favors as he tried to exorcise his demons the only way he knew: the hard way.

"They didn't give you any details beyond that?" he asked as they found themselves before the library.

"No, unfortunately not." Valmar quickly unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving Navarion to follow him in.

When he entered, he set the glasses down on the windowsill and walked to the back, finding his two youngest siblings and his godmother seated in a circle. All three fell silent when he approached and he knew they were talking about him. Already on the defensive, he greeted them quietly and looked to Valmar, who had conveniently found some shelves to arrange at the front of the library, far enough such that he wouldn't be dragged in to the discussion. It wasn't like the deadman to be disingenuous, but then again he hadn't technically lied as far as Navarion knew.

The trio all looked at each other, and Irien was the first to speak. "Hey...why don't you take a seat here. We're going to Feralas soon, and we need to sort some things out first."

Cautiously, the shadow hunter did as he was told, sitting backwards on a chair and facing the rest of the group but keeping them against the wall so as not to feel boxed in. Anxious over the potential confrontation, he stoked the flames first, seeing no reason to delay the inevitable. "I'm assuming you're all here to warn me not to drink on whatever trip you want me to accompany you on?" he asked a little more bluntly than he would have liked to sound.

Another round of shared looks among them made him even more uncomfortable. Tiondel ended up staring at the floor while frowning, and Sharimara motioned for Irien to speak. Immediately Navarion tensed up to his godmother, feeling the defensive position coming on already.

"No, that's not it. At all. We need to talk about something a little bit different first."

Navarion sighed through his long nose and leaned forward with his elbows on the back of the chair. Either they were trying to address his coping mechanisms indirectly, or they were throwing a curve ball he hadn't prepared for, and his discomfort only increased. "Okay then...what is it?" he asked, holding his hands out as if ready to receive an answer.

When Irien didn't answer at first, Sharimara opened her mouth to talk but was silenced by Irien. Clearing her throat, she straightened up her back and he could already feel the verbal attack coming on. "Who is Astra?" Her words reverberated in his skull, bouncing back and forth as a name he hadn't heard uttered in eight years brought on a great deal of memories he'd worked hard at repressing.

Thankfully, nobody pushed him and he was able to lean forward to cope with the dizziness that quickly set in. The ice box that was his chest threatened to warm up as thoughts and feelings long since past swirled through his head, and the laughter of someone too innocent for a world full of men like him tore at his core.

"She was a friend, a long time ago. I haven't heard from her in almost a decade." Remembering what Valmar had told him earlier, his fight response dominated flight and he went for the direct approach again. "There's a...message from Zorena, I take it? Did she contact you about this?" His short eyebrows cocked up as he asked, thinking he'd already gotten to the bottom of the little sit down.

"Not us; Valmar. Now and eight years ago." Irien looked to the Forsaken, but the deadman continued to busy himself amongst the shelves, leaving her on her own. "There's something very important-"

More passionate than smart, Navarion began shaking his head, giving his godmother pause. "A lot of unpleasant things happen during a war campaign. Zorena and Astra were good friends but I really don't feel like rehashing all this. And I appreciate your concern, auntie, but you're opening an old wound by bringing this up. If you-"

"Wait, listen."

"-really want to help, then you'll just drop this and tell me what this quest in Feralas is all about."

"Just listen!" Irien shot back at him a little more insistently, and he quieted down out of respect. "I'm not doing this because I like it, but this relates to a lot of what's going on right now."

"Nothing is going on. I'm here at home, and just doing work around the area. I have the least eventful life of all of you."

"Will you shut the hell up for a minute?" Sharimara blurted out. Irien snapped her fingers at her but the reality already manifested itself to him. If they thought this was a whip the dog session, they were wrong.

"Look, when you guys are ready to tell me what you're asking of me, we can finish this." Navarion stood out of the chair but didn't walk away just yet. His sister was pissing him off already, but he had no reason to openly disrespect his godmother and didn't prefer to leave without her acknowledgement at least.

"Shari, go help Valmar, please," Irien asked firmly, easily winning a staredown contest before the warden stood up and went to help rearrange books. Tiondel continued to stare at the floor. "Navarion, please sit down. I didn't even finish what I want to tell you yet."

Stuck between a rock and a hard place. That's how he felt. No matter how pushy Irien could get sometimes, she was still one of the people who had helped raise him. He couldn't simply walk away, not when she was being even less stern than usual. "Alright, let's hear it," he sighed while sitting back down.

"Bear with me here, as I'm trying to find the right words," she told him, and his sense of dread immediately doubled. "You're telling me Astra was, indeed, a friend of yours?"

"Yes, many years ago, along with a whole group of people at New Nendis. I haven't remained in contact with any of them."

Irien nodded and rested her chin on her hand for a moment. He didn't like seeing her so pensive like this; she was always firm, blunt and even loudmouthed for an elf at times, and the indecision in her demeanor wasn't like her at all. Something was wrong, and he found himself unable to relax.

"Do you know who Zelda is?"

Unlike the painful sound of Astariel's name, this new one rang no bells at all. Searching through the list of female friends and more-than-friends he could remember, he found nothing. "It's a Zandali name, but I've never actually met anybody with that name," he confessed, changing from anxious to confused.

"Well...I thought not..." Irien's voice trailed off and she stared at the floor for a bit as well.

Valmar and Sharimara continued their shelf arranging, their quiet movements echoing throughout the small library. An eerie sense settled inside him and he tried to tell himself that he was just being paranoid. When Irien didn't look ready to break out of her melancholy any time soon, he tried to prod for more answers.

"Look, I don't know what Zorena told you guys, but whatever she mentions is in the past. That was my last war campaign and I don't ever intend on getting involved in that lifestyle again. Quests with the family are all I do, and you know that. Don't worry, auntie-"

"Zelda is your daughter."

Prior to Irien's utterance, he had fully intended to continue speaking. Navarion wasn't a particularly forgetful person, and in fact had a knack for memorizing what he read in their father's herbalism manuals. But right then and there, after that sentence that hit him in the chest like a canonball, he literally forgot everything. Not just what he had intended to say, but every single thing that had been on his mind that evening.

At first, his inclination was to lightly chastise his godmother for odd and out of context jokes that didn't make sense. For those first few seconds he didn't even consider her words at all, nearly forgetting them as well as he tried to understand everyone's odd behavior that night. No words came to him despite his mouth being open, and slowly, ever so slowly, her sentence began to repeat itself in his head beyond his control. Word by word, it flashed across his memory and he began to understand the meaning of the phrase in context, and comprehended that she was trying to purvey information to him. Information that made no sense at all.

"Come again?"

Staring at him blankly, Irien Rainsong, his headstrong godmother who had always been the one to deliver tough love looked lost. Rather than clarifying what her statement meant confidently, she simply appeared to be as confused as him despite the sureness in her tone of voice. He lost himself as well, completely at the mercy of whatever she intended to tell him.

"Zelda is the name of your daughter." Despite never having been a sentinel, Irien had the perfect monotone drone for the elite Amazonian corps that his mother had once belonged to, displaying no emotion in her voice at all.

An unseen force tried to pull Navarion's head toward the floor, and any and all whispers from the spirits abandoned him as he lost all sense. "My...daughter..." he murmured, finding that it made no more sense when he repeated it out loud.

"Yes. Zelda is your...daughter. You're a father. And Astra is her mother." For a second, Irien's face softened as if she were a bit sad, though whether to deliver the news or at the news itself, he could not tell.

"Oh...my...okay..."

Active when he'd been silent before, Tiondel grabbed the nearest trash can and put it in front of Navarion. "Shari, come hold his mane!" he shouted, and heavy footsteps unbecoming of a stealth warrior padded over to the hunched over oldest brother.

"No...I'm fine...I..."

And then he barfed up his breakfast.

"Watch the carpet, please," Valmar asked casually while spending more time reading the books than arranging them.

"Argh..."

"Watch your goatee," Tiondel warned him.

"Don't hold it back if more needs to come out," Sharimara added.

"Guys, stop talking, just give him some time!" Irien went to grab a glass of water from the break room in the back so he could rinse his mouth out over the trash can, and everyone thankfully listened and let him finish dry heaving and then panting.

Removed from the discussion until then, Valmar finally stepped forward to chime in. "I suppose some more direct explanation is in order." He stepped around to where everybody could see him, and Navarion's head was still spinning as he wondered how in the holy hell could the Forsaken have any involvement in the matter at all. "A long time ago, before you were born, I associated with a certain Alliance paladin during the campaign on Draenor. One who was very close to you in life," he stated vaguely enough that only Navarion understood the sharp painful memory of another one of his loves now lost. "She had no next of kin, but I was someone who could be informed of her passing, and a certain Brigadier General in the Sentinels handled that detail. Zorena tracked down my name and address shortly thereafter, seeking to tell someone close to you but not too close of what transpired at New Nendis after you left."

"Transp...you mean...Astra got pregnant?" Navarion wheezed, still too dizzy to look anywhere but the floor.

"Yes, that's it. She only wished to inform someone and to keep in touch. I wrote to her a few times, but she only informed me of her location via postcards as she took your daughter and her mother in as a charity case." Navarion's chest clenched at the sound of him having a daughter he never knew about being mentioned, but he was given precious little time to recover. "Most recently, I've been informed of a very significant detail which is extremely time sensitive - hence Lady Rainsong's insistence that you all travel to Feralas as soon as possible."

From there, Irien took the lead again, rubbing Navarion's back in an attempt to calm him down. "Zorena located at Dream Bough. She supported Astra and Zelda but at some point the two relocated and Zorena corresponds with them long distance. Well, apparently she's gotten up pretty high in the Circle and she's going to enter the Emerald Dream for some standard of forty years. Soon. Really, really soon. As in, by the end of the week. She'll no longer be able to support your daughter and her mom in a matter of days from now."

Shaking his head and then nodding but not knowing the reason, Navarion felt another wave of nausea as he felt completely exposed. "I didn't know...I didn't know what happened...why didn't she tell me?" As much as he tried to seek something to blame, he couldn't bring himself to blame Astariel, and he found himself embarrassed in front of his family with nowhere to go.

"It doesn't matter now. What matters is that Zorena is your only connection to the daughter you're now aware of, and she's all the way in Feralas. She only mentioned that this Astra woman isn't in Feralas but didn't specify where. If we try to write back to her, she might be in the Dream before she even has a chance to read the letter." Irien slapped him on the back as if to emphasize her point, showing a bit of that tough love again. "We have to leave tonight. Within the hour, even. We're looking at two and a half days of flying if we don't stop, but we'll have to stop eventually, so make that nearly four days. We'll catch Zorena before she enters the Dream but we have to leave soon."

Pulse throbbing and head spinning out of control, the mentally beleaguered shadow hunter tried to make sense of the whole ordeal. "But wait...how will I tell mom and dad-"

"I'll deal with your parents for the time being," Valmar offered. "I'll bend the truth slightly but it's for their betterment; there's nothing they can do to help the situation from here and knowing about it will only worry them. You all leave, and I'll have a story devised before the morning. You can't lose any more time."

"I can run and sneak in the house for fresh changes of clothes and supplies. Del, can you run to the flight master?" Sharimara asked while moving to leave.

"Right. I'll go to the old flight point near the front gates; we're less likely to be recognized there."

Decisions about his life were being made without his consent at all, but the sinking feeling in Navarion's chest prevented him from even lifting a finger in protest. Valmar retreated to a desk where he began brainstorming ways to placate their parents regarding the sudden departure of three of their children plus their best friend, leaving Navarion alone with Irien and the bizarre cocktail of emotions he'd tried to numb himself from for nearly a decade doubling to immense proportions.

Eventually he found the energy to sit up. He still hadn't entirely grasped just what had sprung from the events at New Nendis so long ago, but he could at least grasp what was happening at that point. Fighting with everything he had to repress his emotions once more and pretend that he felt nothing, he found the willpower to look Irien in the eye.

"So...we're going to Dream Bough. And from there...we can talk to Zorena. And we can find out where to go and meet..." Navarion's voice hitched in his throat when he tired to pronounce Astariel's name out loud, as if his body were preventing him from delving into feelings his heart wasn't ready to have open quite yet.

Helping him to stand despite being much shorter, Irien was a combination of hardness and softness, blame and sympathy. "Look, there's a Hearthglen kid out there, somewhere, right now. I don't know what occurred between you and this woman, and I don't know how she'll react to you. But one way or another, a part of the family is missing. I just hope we can find them and figure out what to do before your parents catch on." She began helping him remain upright as they left the library, entrusting Valmar to distract the family from their absence.

"Cici is not going to be happy to know she has a grandkid who's grown up fatherless and far from her for seven years. That much is for sure."


	5. Zorena

At every flight point on the way from Ratchet to Dream Bough, the four of them switched mounts. From Ratchet to New Taurajo the southern Barrens, then to Freewind Post in Thousand Needles and on to Camp Mojache in the far east of Feralas, they stopped only to use pay toilets, eat while sitting in the dirt near flight points and then switch wyverns to fly again. Once they were inside Feralas proper, they marched toward the edge of camp and set up a tent after taking the permission of the local tauren chieftain, setting their gnomish windup alarm clock to only allow themselves four hours of sleep after nearly three days of flying. Everybody's thighs and behinds were aching by the time they laid down to sleep in the tent like a bunch of sardines, and even after four hours of rest they hadn't healed up entirely.

Before they knew it, the quartet had woken up at the sound of the alarm and were on the move again. After a short wait, they were able to rent hippogriffs for the rest of the flight; the feathered mounts fared better in the more humid climate, while the wyverns tended to prefer the more arid lands surrounding the elevated rainforest that was Feralas. It was a beautiful place, like a tropical version of Ashenvale, but nothing seemed able to calm Navarion's frazzled nerves. He had already expended a great deal of energy keeping himself mentally preoccupied during the long trip; anything to avoid thinking about the news Valmar had delivered to them and the entire reason they were so far from home in the first place. How he would even begin to explain to his parents was beyond him and he didn't even want to begin to address that at the moment.

Eight monotonous hours of painful flying later and Jademir Lake came into view. The place was huge, and the settlement on the island in the middle reminded him of Astranaar, the home of his aunt and uncle, except it had an enormous tree easily two hundred feet tall or more growing in the middle of it. At one point in time after the Third War, the Emerald Dream had apparently been corrupt for a period before being cleansed. That was all in the past, of course, and since Druids such as Navarion's middle brother Zengu had been able to return to the Dream freely, the situation around the four saplings of the fabled former World Tree had improved dramatically. All around them lazed numerous green dragon whelps making their homes in the high canopy, paying little mind to the four travelers or any other airborne denizens for that matter, but always keeping careful watch out of one corner of their eyes. Dream Bough itself had expanded so much that the portal to the Emerald Dream wasn't even visible as they crossed the lake. All along the shore, shops, barracks and waystation services catering mostly to pilgrims dotted the landscape, interspersed with both night elven style houses grown into trees and going up several stories toward the canopy straddled by branch and vine bridges, as well as tauren style tepees on the ground below. A large wall of mostly vegetation surrounded the circular lakeside city, protecting it from any who might threatend the critical work the Druids performed there regarding climate control and weather regularity on that end of Azeroth. The central island itself was mostly off limits, covered in lodges and dens specific to the Cenarion Circle officials who tended to the needs of the portal and monitored who went in and out of the Dream.

There interest didn't lie there, though. What they were concerned with was the residential district on the long shores of Jademir Lake. Inside the city walls, the quartet landed at at one of three flight points divided by mount specialty - a hippogriff roost, in their case - and promptly required a few minutes of popping their joints and stretching their legs and backs before moving any further. Once out of the way of bypassers on the main road leading in a ring around the lake and carefully setting their travel bags down on a grassy patch beneath a fig tree, the four of them were able to get their bearings.

Irien looked up at the circular break in the canopy around the lake. "Dawn is approaching rapidly; knowing Zorena's old sleep schedule, she'll probably be waking up and fresh about now." She grabbed a fig and started eating it, savoring the taste after such a long ride. "Hopefully we'll be able to get a room here, but not quite yet. Time is of the essence," she splurted with a mouthful of fig.

Tiondel took a swig from his water skin before offering it to the rest of the group and wiped the sweat beading on his long eyebrows. "Shari, we need the address."

"Right, hold on." Before even taking a drink, the youngest sister pulled a sheet of paper on which Valmar had scribbled the return address from Zorena's letters, which were still safely back at the library in Ratchet. "Just the name of a district and a unit number. Cypress Knee number fourteen." Quickly looking up, Sharimara flagged down the first sentinel that walked by the group, a typical armored and statuesque Kaldorei woman staring into everything and nothing as she walked on her patrol. "Excuse me sister! Could you help us with some directions?"

The woman looked at her blankly and flashed a smile so subtle as to barely be noticeable. "What brings you here?" she asked in a flat tone.

"Sister we're looking for a residential district called Cypress Knee. Could you direct us to the quickest route?"

"Of course." Starting at a brusque pace, the group had to rush to pick their travel bags back up in order to avoid losing sight of the sentinel; as would be expected in a settlement housing both nocturnal and diurnal races, the foot traffic at Dream Bough never seemed to let up. Stopping abruptly near an emergency services wharf at the shoreline, the sentinel pointed toward a cluster of treehouses and tepees at two o'clockfrom their position. "Across the way is an oak treehouse that has a cypress tree growing upside down from one of its higher branches. That's in the middle of the district you want."

"Thank you sister-"

"I am honored," the sentinel interrupted her and then promptly returned to her rounds.

Irien heaved her duffel bag, which was quite a heavy load for the slight of build businesswoman and turned to traverse the long, circular road. "We're making good time. Let's just move now and we can rest later." The two younger Hearthglen siblings immediately followed her, but Navarion trailed behind, his chest tight in apprehension.

Truth be told, he had no idea what sort of information Zorena would bear. For the entire...well, nearly four days if his hazy mind had measured correctly, he'd been able to distract himself by focusing on the pitfalls of traveling so far in so short an amount of time. And without having told anyone back at home, no less; Valmar was a deadman of his word, and had surely invented some story about half the household running off to join some major capture quest in the northern Barrens or perhaps even Durotar. The past half a week had been a blur of plains, mesas, mountains, rivers, valleys, river valleys and now rain forests as the group tried to make good time.

At the end of it, the only time he had to even ponder the fact that he...was...a father...was the ten minutes he spent waiting at the library with Irien while Sharimara and Tiondel arranged the trip. And even then, his head had been spinning with so much nausea, disbelief and pent up feelings that he hadn't been able to focus anyway. But there, at Dream Bough, the brief walk to what they assumed to be Zorena's neighborhood was agonizing. In order to prevent himself from reeling over under the strain of so much he'd fought to contain for so long, Navarion just stared at the back of his siblings' heels and tried to let the early morning foot traffic distract him, to little avail.

"Nervous?"

Snapping his head up, Navarion found that Sharimara had drifted back to walk next to him. They were almost at the neighborhood and her expression was one of concern, but it made him feel entirely exposed and uncomfortable. Seeking a way out from the pain threatening to heat up his cold heart again, he tried to hide behind his mask.

"Not really. Astra and I were just friends, many years ago," he forced himself to mutter. "I just want to take responsibility for my mistake."

In a flash Sharimara's jaw dropped open and any sympathy she may have held for him disappeared from her demeanor entirely. For a few awkward seconds she continued staring at him, barely concealed rage at her brother held back due to them being in public. Once she'd sufficiently shamed him with her gaze alone, she sped up to walk next to Tiondel again, refusing to acknowledge Navarion's presence the rest of the way there.

The neighborhood was densely packed, like most of the circular city. Dense and high vegetation provided a sound barrier between tepees and treehouses that had only a yard or less of space in between them, and even those treehouses rose a good four stories high. It only took about a minute of looking to find a night elven cottage labeled 'fourteen' and the quartet found themselves standing before the closed doors of the small dwelling.

"Well...this is it," Irien droned while looking the cottage upsnd down. "Navarion, why don't you hang back. There's no telling how she might react to you."

"No, I understand. It's a good idea."

All four of them continued to shoulder their bags as Irien knocked on the door lightly. Hoof clops were heard inside after a moment, and without even checking who it was that had knocked, the door swung open.

Almost as Navarion had remembered her, Zorena stood there in the doorway of the cottage, pleasant as always. Her fur had become a mottled grey, a noticeable change from before, but otherwise it was her, conservative dress and all. At first, she smiled at the three visitors at the front and her expression was one of somebody meeting a person they recognized but just barely.

"Greetings, travelers. You wish to spea..." Her sentence was cut short when she noticed Navarion at the back of the group. Her eyes narrowed in anger and as if she were bipolar, her entire disposition changed in half a second. "You!" Zorena hissed immediately upon recognizing him, forgetting the presence of the others. Shrinking back so as not to push her into slamming the door shut, he turned away and let the others handle the conversation.

"Zorena, is that you? Do you remember who we are?" Sharimara asked, stepping to block Navarion from sight.

Pursing her lips, the older tauren female turned to the younger mixed female before her. Visibly irritated but only at one person, Zorena breathed deeply for a second before answering. "Yes...Shari, isn't it? And Del? You're both grown up now, but I remember...Irien Rainsong, is that you?" Zorena continued to look irritated but also as if she were trying hard to work past it.

"It's been quite a long time," Irien chimed in. "But you're still just as I remember you. Is this a suitable time for you?"

"Yes, well, I...yes. Yes. And I think I know why you're all here...you spoke to Valmar, I take it."

"That's correct. He contacted us right away, and it looks like we reached you in time. We'd really like to insist...we'd like to talk to you about the situation." Switching off any sort of sternness she might normally have, Irien almost seemed to fall into some demure young lady act. "Could we come inside, perhaps?"

Motherly as always, Zorena didn't need to out on an act to oblige visitors. "Yes, in fact I think it's better if you step inside. But...you are not welcome," she huffed sternly while pointing directly at Navarion. Wordlessly, he raised his hands in the air and walked away, waiting by a natural, wisp powered lantern growing out of the ground.

The moment the others all went inside the cottage, he began to listen to the spirit world, Zorena's resentment for his callous errors be damned. He had to know what the hell was going on, and once he could sense their souls hoving further away from the front door, he promptly snuck to the side of the cottage, wedged himself in between its outer wall and the vegetation and underbrush sound barrier blocking it from the next house over and ducked down. Squeezing against the wooden side of the house and the rough mess of vines dividing the two adjacent properties, he was able to wedge himself near a side door from which he could better listen to whatever news there was about his...daughter. He nearly fell to the ground just trying to wrap his head around the concept again.

Creaking rang out as the group went through the obligatory offering of candies and tea, the obligatory refusals and the inevitable forcing of snacks. He could sense them all setting in to the cushions inside the home - Zorena was shorter than Navarion but like most of the large bodied tauren, she preferred cushions to chairs - and relaxing into a civil if somewhat sad conversation.

"It looks like you've boxed everything up in here," Tiondel remarked, appearing chattier than he ever had since moving back into their parents' house after his divorce.

"All in preparation for my duty at the end of the week. I have no more need for material possessions." There was a legitimate happiness, if also weariness, in Zorena's voice, as if she couldn't wait to leave this world for the Emerald Dream. "You're all welcome to anything that catches your eye among my former belongings here."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to take your stuff, auntie," Tiondel laughed, and it was the first time he'd laughed in months.

"It isn't mine anymore. Anything left here of value will be auctioned off to fund the Circle's operations, anything not of value will go to the nearest orphanage in Thunderbluff. Whatever I can give to the world, I will."

"You do, and words cannot express how grateful our family is, Zorena. And I guess this is a little direct, but part of why we're here - you know, we owe you a big thanks. All of us." Sharimara sounded downright pleasant rather than her usually standoffish self, and Navarion could almost imagine the sappy smile on her face.

"Ah...that topic."

"From what we understand, you took in a piece of our family's flesh and blood as a sort of responsibility of your own for many years. Is that accurate?"

Sighing deeply, Zorena was a mixture of feelings according to the spirits, feelings that Navarion was mostly feeling as well. Reaching out to sense her reaction stung him, and he quickly retracted into his shell and severed the connection in favor of simply listening. To dig too deep would risk opening his own heart again, an act he'd spent many years convincing himself could never happen.

"I never gave many details to mister Valmar, to be frank. Just the basics, so if I ever passed on, there would be a point of contact to continue monitoring Astra and Zelda's case," the tauren matron explained a little more calmly. "How much has Valmar told you?"

"According to him, everything he knows from you he passed on to us," Irien explained herself. "But it seems he doesn't have much in the way of details."

"That was intentional on my part, I must confess. I did not wish to give the impression that I was begging or attempting to cause trouble. Of course, that didn't prevent Valmar from contributing to the care of them both once he found out."

More than one person shifted on their cushions audibly, and Navarion almost twitched in his tiny crawl space between the wall of the house and the vine wall next to it. "Well, apparently there's at least one detail Valmar didn't inform us of," Irien remarked in surprise. "According to him, you cared for this Astra woman and the girl by yourself."

"Humble of him, but no. I don't know his source of income, but once he knew there was a Hearthglen in need, Valmar began sending me money every month along with his letters. It's one of my great regrets that I never replied save to inform him of changes of address or major events." Zorena sighed again, almost sounding disappointed in herself. "None of us wanted to be a burden on anybody. As Astra and even I understand, it's pure misery to feel like people only put us neith you out of a sense of obligation, rather than genuine want."

"Since we're discussing things here, I was meaning to ask...Zorena, I know we don't know each other well. This is only the second time I've met you. But why didn't you ever inform the family? At least about the existence of one of our own?" Irien asked in a non confrontational but very direct way.

There was a pause, and since he was too afraid to listen to the spirits again, Navarion had no way of comprehending Zorena's reaction at all. She could have been uncomfortable at the question or indignant that it had been asked for all he knew. "That was...a difficult decision. It was made early on, and beyond that point, no matter how difficult our lives became, we never questioned or discussed it again," Zorena replied slowly. She was obviously choosing her words carefully and likely knew that the family members would want to know why one of their own had been growing up without their knowledge. Apprehension increased in Navarion's chest, as he could already feel the next part of the explanation approaching. "After what happened in New Nendis, I don't think poor Astra was ready to face Navarion again. Not unless he was willing to come find her."

Bristling stiffly enough to be heard on her cushion, Sharimara's spoke urgently in her familiar accent - due to spending so much time around their mother, she and Issinia were the only two of the six siblings to have one. "What did he do at New Nendis?" she asked bluntly and in an accusatory voice, already causing him to shrink into the dirt and grass in his hiding spot.

"Ahh...you're asking for the story, then? The full story I never explained to Valmar?"

"I know it might be painful, sister, but it would mean a lot to us," Irien said, butting in before Sharimara could rant again and displaying more calm than any of the siblings were used to seeing from their godmother.

"Oh...very well. I assume you all remember when Navarion arrived in northern Kalimdor for the heritage preservation efforts? The ones aimed at regrowing and restoring ancient Kaldorei cities?"

"Yes, that was a full decade ago," Irien replied.

"Exactly. During that time, he began a relationship with a...certain member of the Alliance. It was an abusive relationship on both of their parts, but they both seemed committed in their own way. Her infidelity drove them apart at New Nendis, and then later, her death."

After a quiet moment, Irien spoke up, once again the leader of the group since Sharimara seemed more subdued and Tiondel didn't enjoy talking unless it was necessary. "He never told any of us about this relationship. This was ten years ago?"

"Less, I believe. They were a couple for more than a year and then she fell during the anti-silithid campaign eight years ago."

"He never told us about her at all," Irien said plainly, though knowing her she may have been bothered about him cutting the family out of his personal life.

"He's been with a lot of women he never tells us about-"

"Shari, knock it off," Tiondel hushed at the youngest sister.

"Ah...haha. Sister Zorena?"

"Oh...well, yes. Astariel - Astra - had known both Navarion and his former partner, when they were together and during the period in which they had split up. And he and Astra were attracted to each other, and they grew close to one another at the end. When Navarion's partner...passed on, Astra assumed that meant they would be together. He was an emotional wreck. They gave him a few days off duty and he spent much of it passed out in a pool of hard liquor; he took the loss very, very hard. At some point he and Astra were together during that time, and then they both disappeared for a month."

"Disappeared how, if he was serving on a military campaign?" Irien sounded a little insistent, and there was a shift as though Sharimara was about to jump in as well. Thankfully, somebody restrained his firecracker sister and she didn't speak.

"Well, Astra was also on the campaign, but had just been discharged honorably since she had been an irregular, contracted soldier like him. She was just gone, either never leaving her house or leaving at odd hours. Navarion spent the last month or so of his service on a highway patrol, guarding the commercial roads and merchant caravans. Keep in mind, during this time, I had no idea they had been together for a period after his former partner passed away; I didn't see either of them and was busy at the healer's tent. So I didn't see them again until the day he left." At that, Zorena paused, and even without listening to the spirits he knew she may have bore the same sadness he did down in his hiding spot. He shut his eyes tight, almost wishing he could somehow prevent her from finishing the story, but to no avail. "The last I saw was the back of him from more than a mile off as he flew south; he'd been discharged and left without telling us goodbye, and Astra was there. I had been looking for her, actually - it's strange how fate does that sometimes."

"So she told him goodbye?" Irien asked, and her voice bore a hope that was painful to hear.

"No. No, he didn't. But she somehow learned when he was leaving, and she watched him fly away. That moment was when I realized she was pregnant. But she didn't believe me at first, you know. She was a month into pregnancy at that point but she wouldn't accept it for a few days."

Sinking into the bushes, Navarion tried to stabilize himself. Up felt like down and down felt like up and he could almost feel the wind whipping at his already stinging eyes, as if the elements themselves were trying to push him back toward New Nendis. He could have sworn, so strongly, that he'd felt a pair of eyes on his back as he flew away...it was too much to remember. Pressing his fingers to his temples, it was all he could do to blot the memories out and try to focus on the present.

"And...was Zelda born in New Nendis?"

"Yes. For a few years, we stayed there. Astra's parents were originally from there, and so she could claim a housing unit by birthright, without having to pay for anything - part of the heritage preservation plan. That saved us in so many ways. Astra made the decision that unless Navarion came back for her, she wouldn't pursue him or tell him the news - it felt humiliating for her to chase him around if he didn't want to be with her," Zorena said, resentment boring its way into her voice.

"I did want to...but I couldn't," he accidentally muttered to himself. He quickly clamped his hands over his mouth and was thankful when nobody heard him, but a measure of his guilt and sadness did turn to anger; Zorena wasn't telling that part of the story correctly.

Sharimara growled involuntarily but Irien and Tiondel kept her on a tight leash, and Irien retained the role as group speaker. "It must have been a very hard decision for her. I wish she'd told us that a member of our family was out there and needed care, but her position is easy to identify with," the godmother remarked, once again using a calm that wasn't the norm for her.

"Of course it was. Single motherhood is more acceptable among night elves than any other society in the world, but that doesn't make it easy - especially for someone like Astra, who was born after immortality. She doesn't have that rugged, independent attitude your generation does," Zorena explained while obviously indicating Irien. "She's like a young person from any other race; she had no partner, no parents and no support other than me. For the first few years of Zelda's life, I contributed most of my wages from the Circle to supporting them both; that, in addition to the even larger sum Valmar kept sending, meant she was able to care for Zelda without a nanny, which meant so much. I moved in to the apartment as well - it was cramped, but Astra was completely overwhelmed by the responsibility and sheer difficulty. Every time that poor girl woke up with a fever, every time she banged her head on a table leg, every time she had colic and Astra didn't know what to do, I was at least able to be there when I was off duty. I became Zelda's grandma, in a way."

"You have our eternal thanks for that, sister; you truly do," Irien said graciously. "But there is also a biological grandma who will want to see Zelda was well. And as I am to understand, you will be leaving this world soon."

"Yes, that was why I wrote to Valmar most recently. How can I keep this...brief? Well, until Zelda was mostly mobile, you know, the first four and a half years of her life, we were at New Nendis. But we both knew that eventually Astra would need to stand on her own - she has no living family members and nobody to help her in the world," Zorena sighed sadly. "I have no doubt that Valmar would continue assisting any way he could, but she can't rely on that forever. So, we found an opportunity. At Dream Bough, I was able to jostle for a position that involved more responsibility on my part as well as more benefits. We put Zelda into a formal school here, which wasn't possible in New Nendis as most night elves homeschool. Astra was then able to enroll in school as well during the day. There's a fusion restaurant here that accepts pupils as long as they're willing to work without pay. So, she spent a good two years training to become a chef while Zelda learned math and was also able to learn basic techniques to commune with nature from apprentices at the Sisterhood of Elune here. In case the worst ever happened to Astra or myself, Earthmother forbid, we agreed that Zelda would be raised by the Sisterhood. Astariel didn't get a fair chance in life, seeing as how her parents died during her own childhood; she wanted to make sure every possible scenario for her own daughter was covered."

Everyone grew quiet for a moment, and not a soul was disturbed nor a limb moved. The early morning birds sang their songs but they may as well have fallen silent among the early morning rush of the non-night elves going about their business. Everybody, even Zorena, seemed a bit blue after the explanation of how Zelda had been raised away from any other family members.

"You've taken on a considerable burden for our family under no compulsion," Irien said demurely after some time, as if she - the verbose auction house baroness who always knew what to say - were at a loss for words. "I really don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say a thing. We all have our paths in life. Kuma, my brother, was a bit older - about three decades older than me - and his path in life was to care for me like a child rather than a sibling when our parents passed on. Now that he's gone, I've dedicated my life to the efforts of the Cenarion Circle and helping others; that I happened to know Astra during her time of need was a joyous occasion to me; not a burden." For another moment or two Zorena became quiet and not even Sharimara moved to fill in the silence as the ageing healer reminisced in her life. "Unfortunately, that path now has the need to diverge from this worldly, material life. I'm prepared, but obviously attachments aren't always easy to surrender - hence my most recent letter to inform Valmar of the situation," she sighed wistfully.

"Apparently you're entering the Emderald Dream, correct? This Astariel person and Zelda will finally be on their own?" Irien asked.

"My time has come. Nature always requires those willing to tend to it, and because of my advanced age, I am not likely to survive my forty year tenure that's considered a basic tour of duty - I'm already over a century old, which for our people, is nearing the end," Zorena chuckled in good humor. "I didn't tell Valmar of their location out of concern for Astra's desire for privacy, but I've routed an account for her through the Sisterhood. No matter where Valmar sends money - if he chooses to continue to do so - it will eventually be routed to her via banknotes functioning like coupons for food and clothing. It was not an easy decision, but they will be taken care of."

The floor creaked as Sharimara leaned forward again, no longer able to contain herself. "You don't ever need to worry, sister. We're here, and we aren't going to let one of our own fend for herself. I understand that this Astariel lady might not necessarily want us in her life - and I especially understand if she never wants my brother to come near her again - but we aren't just willing to help care for Zelda. We have a right to see her." She wasn't pushy but Sharimara was approaching that sort of tone, her more trollish behavior often causing her not to realize how direct she could be at times.

"You're right...you're right on all counts. I'm not entirely sure how Astra will react to you all entering her life, but it is your right. Zelda's birth was withheld from you due to Astra's circumstances at the time; that was her right. And now, you all know, and considering the fact that I'll be leaving in a few days, it might be better for you all to at least become acquainted with each other."

"She left, as we are to understand it; is that correct? I mean, she left the region entirely?" Irien asked, a little more urgently. "According to Valmar, she's been gone for a while."

"That's right. Astra did very well at the culinary program they have at that big restaurant on the other side of the lake; she can cook all different types of cuisine. Zelda finished most of her elementary schooling as well. She's only seven years old now, but she's smart...so very smart. She'll do big things one day," Zorena said. The emotion in her voice stung Navarion's heart and sent his pulse racing in a way he wasn't used to, and he began to rise up from his hiding spot near the side door. "Well anyway, they moved on to a place in Tanaris where there's another big fusion restaurant opening for all the contract workers there-"

The side door slammed so hard when Navarion burst inside that even Tiondel jumped a bit, and Zorena grabbed for a broomstick near her chair as if she were being robbed. Before he even realized what he'd done, words began spilling out of his mouth that didn't sound like things he'd ever say at all.

"Why would you let them go to Tanaris? That's no place for a seven year old girl!"

"Shit, Navarion! What's wrong with you!" Tiondel almost hissed at his older brother.

"How did you get in my house!" Zorena cried out, on the verge of looking scared.

"Oh, so now you care about your 'mistake' do you?" Sharimara scolded him in a petulant way more befitting the middle sister, Issinia.

"Mistake?" Irien asked while looking at Sharimara in puzzlement.

"How did you get in my house!"

"Dude, just come wait with me outside," Tiondel grumbled while rising and trying to pull the oldest brother back out.

"No, wait!" he barked while trying to pull away. "Zorena I'm sorry, by the Goddess I'm sorry. And I understand how hard you've worked to help, but I have a right to be involved in this, too!"

Sharimara was about to jump up and berate him again until Irien grabbed her by the wrist. Zorena only facepalmed, hoping to wait out the minor family feud taking place in her cottage. Eventually Irien forced them all to settle down but couldn't force Navarion to leave.

"I'm sorry...Zorena, I'm so sorry-"

"I heard you the first time."

"-but Tanaris is full of slavers, pirates and rogues. Didn't you try to stop them?"

Giving him a hard look, the tauren matron remained in her seat but didn't try to eject him from her home. Everyone sort of just stared at the floor while she measured her response, at least taking solace in the fact that his intrusion hadn't resulted in her calling for the sentinels or the braves patrolling the area. "Astariel is not the person you once knew," she lectured, the resentment she held toward Navarion barely concealed in her tone of voice. "Life hasn't been kind to her. I did the best I could, but I can't shield her from everything. The naive young softie you might think you remember died a long time ago," she continued. The word 'died' stabbed him in the chest and even Sharimara shifted uncomfortably at the phrasing. "She is a strong, independent woman who does the best with what she has. She doesn't need you or anyone else to protect her in a place like Gadgetzan, trust me; she's learned enough lessons the hard way." A look that only Navarion and Zorena understood took place between them. At the very corner of her snout, her lip quivered ever so slightly, speaking of experiences she wouldn't spell out for him but didn't need to. Her eyes bored a hole into him, leaving him exposed but only before her, and he could feel the heat rising in his skull already.

Once she felt her point had been made, she cleared her throat and relaxed to address the others politely. "My intention was for Astra and Zelda to be left alone, per her wishes. It was a difficult decision, but my time has come, and she must move on - such is life. I contacted Valmar on my own accord as he seemed insisted on contributing toward Zelda's education all these years, but other than that, I had not planned on contacting anyone else. I understand completely of that doesn't sit well with you all; this is a young member of your family. If you wish to reach out to Zelda and her mother, you can find them in Gadgetzan. They moved almost half a year ago so she could take up work at that place - Topaz, this fusion restaurant there - and where there was a night school that Zelda could attend while Astra would be at work."

"An address, Zorena; do you have an address?" Navarion asked urgently, cutting Irien off.

"No, to be honest. She wrote to me a bit in the beginning and the housing situation was shifting. At first the restaurant promised free but cramped housing to all workers. Then they had a conflict with the apartment building they planned on renting, so they gave her a stipend to rent by herself. She was at an inn for a while but it was too noisy during the daytime, then they switched to another one. It's been a few months since I heard from them, but she was supposed to find something - I'm not sure what part of the city." Speaking civilly to him for the first time, Zorena suddenly appeared very serious, even hopeful that the family would reach out. "I wish I could tell you more, but since I've been making so many arrangements for my final departure and she's been busy in her new life, we haven't kept in touch."

"You've already done so much for our family, Zorena; so, so much. We'll never be able to thank you enough," Irien said, indicating for Navarion to settle down. "Since we know where they are now, we don't need to rush as much, and we'll need to spend a day or two here resting. Will we be able to see you again before your final exit?"

"Yes, I think you will. I have three days, and only on the last one will I be especially busy. I do have some errands to attend to this morning as well - if you all feel like checking into an inn, then feel free to do so and please come back as soon as you're up." Smiling warmly despite the heavy topic of the conversation, Zorena looked over Irien, Sharimara and Tiondel. "It really is nice to see you all again. At least one more time before I go."

After a few more minutes of small talk and arrangements to see each other again, Zorena eventually saw the group to the door after forcing light snacks on them. As they were picking up their travel bags on the front porch to find the nearest inn, Zorena stepped out through the still open door and took Navarion by the arm.

"Just one minute. Away from the others."

Gulping and looking back at his godmother and two siblings helplessly, he tried to steel his nerves before stepping into the anteroom of the cottage. Zorena stood there, clasping her hands in front of her and looking up at him almost shyly despite having made a beaten man of him through her earlier shaming. It was disconcerting to see, and he already began to brace himself for more bad news despite not having had proper time to even accept the fact that he was a father yet.

"I never wanted things to turn out the way they did," he mumbled, not knowing what else to tell her.

She only stood and gripped her hands a little bit tighter, looking every bit as uncomfortable as him. "I know," she replied demurely, sending him a strong sense of déjà vu he didn't understand. "None of us did. But...it happened. Holding on to my anger against you won't do any good; especially if I am to dedicate what remaining years I have to nature very soon." Turning away from him entirely while saying nothing, she began to shuffle through a small in table near her coat rack and a few boxes of packed up belongings. When she faced him again, she held out a letter with his mother's name on it.

Accepting it cautiously, he looked it over and then looked back to her. "You wrote this before you knew we were coming," he said in confusion.

"I wrote it not knowing whether or not I should send it. It may very well have sat there in the drawer had you not come, but...fate has a strange way of sending signals." Pushing it closer to him, she waved a hand to show him to the door. "Promise me that only she will see it, and only after I've gone into the Dream."

"You have my word. You've done so much for my family and my...d...daughter already." He stepped out onto the empty front porch and watched the other three down the road as they handed their bags to a treant concierge outside of a decent sized inn. For a few seconds, they were able to share a look without malice or discomfort, and only a lingering sadness remained between the two of them. Listening to the spirits, he saw a woman who had led a long, hard life on the plains of the Barrens, deprived of most material comforts he'd taken for granted and still dedicating her life to helping others. A deep sense of awe settled into his chest upon realizing just how much Zorena had given, and how she'd chosen to spend whatever remaining years she had lift continuing to give. And in a way only a shadow hunter could sense, he knew she was aware of what he'd realized, and remained humble the whole time. "I'm going to miss you, Zorena. I wish things could have been different."

"Make them different now, then. Show that you aren't the callous asshole I assumed you to be, and take responsibility. Show that I'm not wrong in believing there is still good in the world, and that help truly does come to those who need it," she whispered to him in a wavering voice.

"I was a callous asshole...but not anymore. I will change, and you will enter the Dream knowing that your good work will be continued. I swear." Not knowing how tauren typically bid farewell and wary of Zorena's conservative nature, he tried to give her upper arm a squeeze. That still made her a bit uncomfortable but she stifled a laugh and nodded while covering her mouth, and he bid her farewell until they'd all meet again for at least one last meal.

Down the road, the others had already entered the inn and he hid the letter well as he walked his aching legs over to the treant laborers. Hope and fear danced around in his brain as he found no possible idea he could imagine as to how exactly Astariel would react to seeing him again. How his daughter...Zelda...would react to him scared him even more. The dryness on his tongue stung him as his sobriety fought him every moment he tried to sleep in the inn bed.


	6. Bar Room Brawl

A/N: very foul language and a fight that ended up being much more graphic than I originally intended toward the end. If you're squeamish about violence, skip the part where the siblings enter a bar and just read the very end.

Knowing a location for the Hearthglen child and her single mother, the quartet had been able to sleep relatively easily, and even Navarion had loosened up a bit. After spending what would likely be the last of Zorena's days on their plane of Azeroth, they saw the tauren matron off to a ceremony where she and four other Druids were sworn in to the barrow den that had been grown on the huge, restricted central island of Dream Bough. They even signed an agreement with the Cenarion Circle to do the final walk through on the cottage that Zorena had been assigned, help clean out whatever belongings were left in preparation for another member to be housed there and even distributed the non perishable items to the poor on the behalf of the Sisterhood of Elune. Their last few days at Dream Bough had been relaxing in a way, and knowing that Astariel and Zelda were at least supporting themselves removed the sense of urgency the group once had.

When they were informed by a local official that Zorena had successfully entered the Emerald Dream and was lying in state safe and sound in the barrow den, the four checked out of the inn and took off, taking the daylong flight to Freewind Post in Thousand Needles and then spending a day there to sleep again - none of them were in the mood for so much excessive flying without a break. After another wait and they set off for Tanaris, soaring over the now water filled canyon that was once Thousand Needles and admiring the islands that had once been mesas. By the time they'd crossed the border to the dusty southeastern edge of Kalimdor, confidence ran high and much of the tension - even that between Navarion and Sharimara - had been ironed out.

Tanaris held its own special kind of beauty. During the yet again daylong flight from Freewind Post to Gadgetzan, they were able to view a full range of colors as the stars lit up the enormous sand dunes. The air was calm that time of year and since winter had started, it was actually a bit chilly despite them being in a desert. Much to their surprise, the sand dunes wouldn't roll when the wind did move them, but rather they jumped - spilling over from the top first like a tidal wave in an ocean.

Once again, the sun had almost risen by the time they could see Gadgetzan over the horizon. The sunlight refracted off of every grain of sand in the desert, stinging the nocturnal eyes of the group and clouding their vision. The wyverns knew where to fly, however, and kept the direction true until the familiar sounds of a goblin city like the one they all lived in filled their ears. Where some heard the sounds of casinos, brothels and mafiosos, the Hearthglens heard the sound of business, progress and voices speaking every language of the globe. Spirits were high when they landed at the main flight point, despite back pain and drowsiness also being high. Once the flight attendants helped them off the wyverns and accepted their pay, the quartet all removed their flight goggles and gloves and huddled off to the sandy side of the rocky road.

"Listen...if we know they're here, we don't necessarily need to rush to find them right away," Irien stated as the three siblings huddled around her. "We're all tired, a little bit smelly and have no plan as to what we'll do if she reacts negatively. I say we rest up first and try to figure out what we'll try to tell this woman once we find her. We can always search later."

"How complicated can it be? Sorry our brother ran out on you, but we had nothing to do with that and would love to get to know you," Sharimara huffed, more at Navarion than Irien.

"That's not helping," Tiondel told her quietly.

"I just don't see what's complicated about it!"

"Shari, please," Irien interrupted while waving her hand definitively. "Just follow me, I stopped here once with your mother years ago. I know a good, quiet inn away from the main roads." The three siblings all followed their godmother down the crowded streets of the colorful merchant city, which was somehow even more multicultural than Ratchet. Thankfully there were very few night elves, and Irien spoke in Darnassian to conceal their conversation from prying ears. "Look, the bottom line is that this woman doesn't know Navarion well and doesn't know us at all. They knew each other almost ten years ago and she chose not to keep in touch with him."

"For his assholery," Sharimara added as if Navarion weren't literally walking next to her, right directly next to her, even rubbing arms with her in fact.

"Shari, we can take turns berating him for past idiocies later. Focus," Irien ordered a little more sternly while stepping around a bratwurst hawker standing next to a hot dog bun bakery. "This woman doesn't know us, doesn't expect to see us and will likely be surprised that after all these years, we found her. She obviously values her privacy very much and might initially be standoffish at the thought of us barging into the life she's built for her daughter. So Navarion, either way, you can help us ask around about her in case we can't find this restaurant immediately, but once we locate her you need to go back to the hotel room and wait while we handle the introductions."

"Understood."

"She also might not understand my relation to the group, exactly - godparents are a sort of international thing, but we didn't traditional do that in Kaldorei culture. I'm sure she's heard of what that is but she might be suspicious of me at first. Shari, Del, that's where you come in - you're the aunt and uncle of Zelda. You're the ones asking for visitation rights and at least to know the girl, and you'll be the ones to extend an offer for help."

"And then I get to meet her, right?" Navarion asked meekly, almost embarrassed to show his interest yet not knowing why or even comprehending his own feelings.

"Since when did you care?" his sister asked, staring right at him with an anger he'd never felt from her before.

"Since I knew she existed, which was less than a week ago; stop treating me like I'm some deadbeat who ran out on a family - how the hell was I supposed to know about any of this?"

"Guys, shut the hell up and let auntie finish," Tiondel grumbled in annoyance.

"Thank you, Del. Anyway, I'll hang nearby just in case she reacts negatively - I can back off if need be, or come to meet her as well if she's open. But you two will need to be the ones to explain to her that the family is prepared to provide any support she needs no matter what, but that the girl does have grandparents who will want to meet her at one point." Irien stopped short and Navarion ended up bumping into her on a particularly narrow side street, and narrowly grabbed her before knocking her over. "Thanks. This is it, by the way - your mother and I stayed at this place...Elune, it was almost fifty years ago. Almost half a century, and the place is the same dump I remember."

Sure enough, they'd come to stop in a crowded, narrow side street that was almost an alleyway lined with stationary shops, tailors and various different traders in profession materials. The inn consisted of a three story stone structure covered in adobe and copious amounts of graffiti and old posters and flyers. The name of the establishment had long ago faded and become illegible, but the doors hung open to reveal a lonely lobby with a receptionist as old and crusty looking as the building itself. Dust from the desert outside the high city walls had somehow worked its way inside, coating even the hibernating dwarven bellhop as the party of four warily walked inside.

"Yep...exactly as I remember it," Irien snickered as her three godchildren looked mortified at the place they'd be sleeping at for the foreseeable future as they tried to locate the missing link in their family.

Navarion tried matting his mane back from its usual Mohawk to a loose hanging ponytail in the window of the shoe store he and Sharimara had stopped in front of. While he wouldn't argue if Irien really did out her foot down about trying to see his daughter right away, he held out hope that they might accidentally bump into her, and he didn't want to look intimidating to the girl.

How exactly he believed he could possibly just bump into a seven year old mixed race kid in such a huge and busy city as Gadgetzan, he did not know. Perhaps after having thought he'd killed his emotions entirely for so long, he no longer knew how exactly to function normally while feeling them again. So focused was he on ensuring that the collar of his smock fit completely even on his shoulders that he hadn't even noticed Sharimara's growing frustration as she harassed nearly every person that passed by the abandoned restaurant.

"I'm just trying to be sure; are you absolutely certain that this was the place? And that you're not thinking of some place else?" the enormous woman asked the frightened pair of human linen merchants.

"Yes, we're absolutely sure!" the portlier of the pair cried out, mistaking her hand on his shoulder for aggression. "You can even see the markings where the letters of the sign used to be - Topaz!"

Sure enough, the dusty face of the building bore the black smudges right above the door of the letters, as if the sign had sat there for a while before it had been removed. The windows had no glass and aside from some scrap paper and a handful of ageing chairs, the entirety of the dark restaurant was empty and looted despite the relatively new looking building.

Still, Navarion held on to more hope than his sister, a rare sense of clarity in the mess that had been his heart and mind for the past week. "Shari, the past five people have all told us the same thing - the restaurant was open for a week and got shut down. We need to ask someone more official regarding what happened and where the employees went - the bruiser station has much better odds of yielding useful info," he whispered to her in Darnassian.

Far more frustrated than he, Sharimara let the human go without a word and turned to walk next to him. The sun had finally set and they'd rested up enough to search for the restaurant known as Topaz in earnest. The two of them had likely found it first since neither of them had crossed paths with Irien or Tiondel, and it had only taken a few minutes to figure out that the place was shut down. Walking in step, the two siblings wound in and out of the crowded adobe apartments and shops of Gadgetzan as they tried to retrace their path back to the police station they'd spotted near one of the seedier areas of the city.

"Only a minor setback, Shari. This city is full of restaurants and other places to find work. If Astra was already here, then for sure she would have found something else to do," Navarion told her, feeling a sincere hope ever since the visit to Zorena had revealed most of the story to them. "We'll find our little Hearthglen, don't worry."

Keeping her arms folded in front of herself defensively,Nashe pursed her lips as if she were chewing on gum and refused to look at him. "I don't know how the hell you can go from calling an innocent child a mistake and then claiming you want to see the little Hearthglen," she snapped at him in a quiet way that only she could pull off.

"Come on, I'd didn't mean it like that. I meant what happened between Astra and I was a mistake; most of what happened during that campaign was a mistake. I wouldn't refer to a child as a mistake." They continued walking through the worst part of town, parting the throngs of gangsters and lowlifes who did their best to avoid the glowing eyed duo. "I've led a bad life, Shari; I know how I am. That doesn't mean I can't change."

"You're going to have to change if you were being serious when you claimed you want to see this girl. She sounds smart and motivated despite not having a dad-"

"That's not my fault, Astra never told me!" he grumbled, finally becoming irritated by her.

"-and she doesn't need someone coming into her life piss drunk and losing days at a time of his memories at bars in random drifter cities."

"Then if you want to help your niece, back the fuck off and give me some space to clean myself up, since you don't seem willing to actually help," he snapped back, cussing at her for the first time since they were children.

Upset and seething, she continued to walk in step as they searched for the police station again. Despite her temper she somehow restrained herself, shutting her mouth tightly and not reacting in kind. After wandering in circles twice as they tried to orient themselves in the dirty, run down part of the city, she snorted the way she did when she felt mad but wanted to offer an olive branch. "I don't know who this girl is, but she's a part of me and the rest of us. And I hate the way I've seen you treat women in the past and I'm almost certain you did the same thing again to her mom. But for the girl's sake, I'll help you. I've been too pissed so far but I'll help you, if it will help her have a dad." The words didn't flow easily or as gracefully from her mouth as her normal pattern of speech did, and Navarion could tell that it took an incredible amount of self control for her to remain both civil and coherent.

"I will. Not for you or anyone else, but for the girl. You'll see. I will change."

As close to reconciliation as the two most hotheaded of the six siblings could be, they refused to actually look at each other or apologize but walked in tandem as they finally found the police station. Walking inside the dirty and poorly maintained front office without any of the tension they'd felt before, they waited in line behind people complaining about noisy neighbors and petty theft for a few minutes before moving toward the front of a queue at a small glass window.

An entirely bored looking goblin sat in a civilian uniform similar to the style of the bruisers' armor behind the glass, filing her nails as she looked up at the two siblings. Forcing a smile, she may as well have been chewing on bubble gum just to punctuate the very clear vibe that she didn't want to be there any more than all the people waiting in line.

Before she had a chance to spit out a snarky line, Sharimara cut her short by asking, "what happened to the restaurant called Topaz?"

Only temporarily cut off from her attitude, the receptionist quickly regained her bearings. "What do I look like, the queen of the information bureau? This is a police station," she responded sarcastically though not dismissively.

Leaning forward and trying to sense her mood, Navarion found someone bored out of her mind and quickly jumped in before his sister bit the woman's head off. "Ma'am, there is no information bureau in Gadgetzan. And given as how you're the only one around here who seems to know what she's talking about, based on how well you handled all these saps before us, we have no where else to go. Just a few minutes of your time to distract you from all the losers reporting missing cats. What do you say?" he asked in a low voice, winking in a way he'd used on many a lady in bars before.

Despite Sharimara's cringe at his behavior, it started to work, and the receptionist toyed with the nail file in her hands while inspecting the two. "You have no idea how many people think lost cats and stolen camels are bruiser business out here. It never ends," she sighed while rolling her eyes.

"Loa, I can only imagine! Sometimes it seems like everybody thinks their little fluffy warrants police attention. Society is degenerating into a gigantic nursery crying to have its ass wiped, I swear," he answered with an enthusiasm that fooled everybody except his sister. Even a formerly bored looking bruiser filing papers behind the receptionist began to laugh.

"I know, right? Last week I had to spend an hour trying to calm this senile gob from Stonard who swore there were humans hiding under his bed at night that wanted to steal his socks! It never ends." Her eyes lit up a bit when Navarion gut laughed at her joke, though Sharimara was thankfully too occupied scaring the other complainers waiting in line behind them to blow his cover. "You're asking about Topaz, right?" she chuckled while fiddling with the nail file again.

"Yes, to be honest. A very dear friend of mine was working there and I'm trying to see if she's alright, you see," he told her in a low voice while leaning forward, working her with his eyes to the best of his ability. "I just want to check in her, and nobody else seems to know what exactly happened. It would mean a lot."

"Aw, that's so sweet! You're friend sure is lucky!" the receptionist cooed, sending another pang of guilt running through Navarion that he had to suppress. "Hold on hun, let me check to be sure. "Hey Philipshead!" she shouted at the bruiser filing papers in the back. "Topaz is the one that had a contractual dispute, right?"

Without looking up, the guy shouted back and his voice reverberated in the small, enclosed reception booth to the point where it was difficult to understand. Only the words yeah, contract, month and workers were clear.

"You understood all that?" Navarion asked the receptionist while tilting his head, garnering another laugh from her.

"You get used to him! He says yeah, apparently Topaz was this big fusion restaurant, real hip place, but there was some sort of contract dispute between the management and the location. They go back and forth until a month into it, they shut down because none of the parties involved can agree on anything. As usual, the workers were the ones left high and dry."

Mustering all of his willpower to conceal his increased heart rate and slight sense of worry, Navarion forced himself to put on the act of a mere concerned friend. "Shucks, that sounds serious...but a place like this has a lot of work. I'm sure they found something else, right?"

"You bet your sweet ass we have a lot of work, but people go their separate ways. We heard that a great number of them ended up at a newer restaurant called Peachy Keen's, a few more scattered across the bars down on Main Street. Two groups of them moved on to other cities at separate times."

"Ah...so I guess those places would be the first location to look, right? I think I know what me and my sis need to do," he sighed while thumbing Sharimara, who had hung a whining gob who had been waiting behind them from the ceiling fan. "Thanks a million babe, nobody else seemed to be in the know. If you're ever in Everlook, drop by Benny's." The winning smile at the end wasn't particularly necessary, but it did leave the overworked young woman with a smile on her face and Sharimara with a cringe on hers.

The two siblings quickly left so more locals could report missing cats, hurrying outside and toward Main Street while Sharimara glared at him. "Is that how you behave when you need something from-"

"Do you want to find your long lost niece, or not?" Navarion countered, cutting her off. "Contrary to what you might think, hamstringing people isn't always the best way to extract information."

Sounds of protest escaped from her mouth but they didn't quite form words, and she appeared to be showing a great deal of restraint. By the time they neared Main Street, the minor tiff had been forgotten. "Let's just hope that they're still here...if they left with those other groups of workers, we'll have a hell of a time tracking her down." Just as Sharimara finished her sentence, they turned onto the crowded Main Street of Gadgetzan and she almost knocked over an irate shirt button salesman pushing a cart.

The main road running through the center of the desert city was of medium width, but it was so crowded by pedestrians that time of evening that no mounts or wagons (or wheeled motor contraptions, considering the location) could have passed through. People of every race were walking in groups including almost every other race, or simply standing around on street corners and sitting at street cafes socializing loudly. It was a pleasant sight given the rough, remote location, but it wouldn't make navigating through the city any easier.

Scanning the crowd quickly, Navarion managed to spot Tiondel with little difficulty; he was taller than ninety percent of those in the crowd, and his glowing eyes didn't make it too difficult. Wordlessly, the two bobbed and waved in and out of the crowd as they tried to reach him near a group of goblins barely sober enough to stand and hang on to the wooden railing at the edge of the street.

"Hey, how ya doing!" slurred one of the well dressed but absolutely smashed goblins as all three pairs of glowing silver eyes converged.

Tiondel turned to face them, his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he casually pumped the inebriated group for information. "Hey guys," he told his two siblings with a casual nod before turning back to the hammered goblins. "So you're sure that most of those who stayed are working on this street?" he asked the more coherent of the bunch, an older female bearing tattoos on one side of her shaved scalp.

"Yesh, most definitely. Right now, you see, right now-"

"-kablammo!"

"-right now, right now, there are...a lot of customers. Because it's on season at the iron mines, so we work hard and play hard."

"Kaching!"

"In fact, a great deal of them ended up over at Bearl's Bodacious Barbecue right over there," the tattooed woman slurred while pointing at a bar marked by graffiti of three dancing pigs. "They don't actually barbecue anymore but a lot of the servers and cooks from Topaz ended up there." Two glazed over eyes found their way to Sharimara, looking the exotic, biracial Amazon up and down. "Ladies drink free, hun!"

When Sharimara only narrowed her eyes at the boisterous bunch, Tiondel noticed and began going through the motions of fist bumps and weird handshakes with the group. "Thanks, that's good to know. You guys take care of yourselves now; we're going to go scope out Bearl's," he told the barely coherent group as the three siblings continued pushing their way down the street.

"Tell them to start the barbecue again!" one of the goblins shouted to the raucous applause of two other random groups of revelers wandering by the curbside.

"So you heard that Topaz got shut down?" Navarion asked his brother as they passed around a circle of Orcish miners watching a blood elf performing magic tricks.

"Eventually, yeah. Apparently places open and close all the time here, so it isn't strange. But there's so many job opportunities that your girl and her mom might still be here."

"They mentioned the bars up and down this street at the police station as well, so for sure we're in the right place. Where's auntie Irien, by the way?" Sharimara asked.

"We split up. There's another part of town that doesn't cater to this sort of crowd - late night diners, people that want peace and quiet. She wanted to kick me over there but we drew lots and I won out." As they reached the swinging saloon style doors of Bearl's Bodacious Barbecue, Tiondel paused for a moment, blocking the view of the bar's interior. "Get ready for a real rathole," he told his siblings in Darnassian as they stepped inside.

Ducking his head to fit under the doorway, Navarion stood next to his sister and brother against the wall to take in the awful scene for a moment. Moderately crowded, noisier than a zoo and almost as smelly, he pitied anyone who would be reduced to hanging at such an establishment, much less working there.

The billiard tables were all busy as were the dart boards, and a few tables in the back of the poorly lit hall featured miners, smiths, caravan workers and raiders playing liar's dice in the dark. Smoke from tobacco and possibly a few other substances filled the air and the clinks of plates and beer mugs slammed on the tables in unison. A live band could faintly be heard playing upstairs, though the music couldn't quite beat out the natural sounds of the shouts, hollers and arguments of all the patrons. A small army of servers and busboys - mostly goblins and gnomes - darted in and out and narrowly dodged being stepped on more than a few times. Four separate bartenders worked behind the relatively small bar, pumping from taps that never seemed to end.

Navarion could already feel the dry itch at the back of his throat, pining for him to quench a thirst that he knew he didn't truly have; it was all in his head. The cacophony of the bar patrons partially drowned it out, and when his sister recognized the tight apprehension in his jaw and neck, a sense of helpfulness finally did break through.

"Be strong," she whispered to him firmly but without malice. "You're here to find info about your daughter; not get smashed. We're right here with you."

Shocked by her lack of roughness and thankful for the support, he spun his head a little to quickly to look at her. "Thanks. I'll be good."

"I hate places like this. What the hell do we do as sober people?" Tiondel asked, already annoyed at the smell of alcohol and the behavior of the drunks.

"Spread out. Hang at the bar, watch billiard matches. People open up in places like this." The sound of wooden cups for liar's dice being slammed to tables in the back caught Navarion's eye, and he turned back to the youngest brother. "Or challenge them. You have the best poker face on Azeroth and the game is a good way to get people talking afterward. We just need to ask as many people as possible and break of convos quickly if the people don't know anything about where the Topaz staff went off to."

"Got it," Tiondel replied tersely while wandering off toward one of the tables of mechanics becoming heated over their dice games.

"And you-" by the time Navarion had turned back around, Sharimara was already gone and observing a mixed group of people standing near one of the billiard tables waiting for their turn to play.

Finding himself alone, he swallowed his fear and made his way over to the bar, repeating to himself over and over again that he'd only have food. Grabbing an unoccupied chair before anyone else could, he seated himself down and waited patiently for one of the four beleaguered barkeeps to notice his presence. A weathered dark iron dwarf, the woman wiped her brow on a napkin before tossing it to the floor and nodding to him for an order.

"Just some peanuts and a pretzel," he told her, not entirely trusting the water at such a place.

She nodded again in affirmation and disappeared in the back room briefly. Before Navarion even had time to look around again, the patron sitting next to him at the bar left his own conversation to take notice of the odd stranger.

"Designated goblin chopper driver?" a sort of youngish night elf male, an extremely rare sight in Tanaris, asked him casually.

"Yeah, something like that," the half elf chuckled back. "I'm looking around for somebody, so I'm trying to remain lucid."

"Look around, huh? You're in luck; we know most people on this scene," the pureblooded greenhaired man laughed to the two humans he had been chatting with.

"We sure do!" chimed in one of them with a thick Gilnean accent.

Seeing an opening after only a few minutes of sitting, Navarion rotated to almost face them but without displaying too much interest. The three of them wore the clothing of office workers and were probably warehouse clerks or something of the sort. "Is that so? Let me ask you then, what happened to all the staff of that restaurant called Topaz?"

The slow reactions of the three implied that they'd already had their fair share to drink, and they mumbled among themselves before a light bulb practically went off over the head of one of the humans. "Oh, that's the place that got shut down! Contract business, I heard."

"Yeah I know that place! They had good service, what the hell happened?" the second added rhetorically.

"A contract dispute, like I said!"

"I'm looking for a specific person that worked there; an old friend that I owe something to," Navarion interjected, not wanting to be too specific with strangers. "She was a night elf with hair the color of thistle. She was a cook."

"Thistle?" the first human asked as his proverbial light bulb went dark.

"Light purple. She was a cook at the place named Astariel. About this tall," Navarion explained while holding his hand out to exactly her height.

"Pretzel and peanuts, sir."

"N...no, I don't think I recall a night elf cook there. This guy's the only night elf I know!" the second human gut laughed as if what he had said were humorous and not a simple observation.

"Keep the change, ma'am. So none of you know of her?"

Silent until then, the green haired night elf man chugged his drink and didn't bother wiping his mouth before letting out a little hoot. "Hey...Astra, right? I think I know who you're talking about," he slurred. The confidence with which he said her nickname, however, indicated that he wasn't simply rambling.

Excitement he knew he should have concealed filled Navarion's heart, and he had to fight not to show so much interest. "Yes, Astra is her nickname. Does she work here? Or at a different place?"

Up until then, the discussion had been rather cordial; just four strangers chatting at a bar and sharing blunt introductions with each other. All of a sudden the air around them changed, and the night elf male smirked with a glint of something in his eye. A measure of poor humor and derision worked its way into his features. "I'm not quite sure where she's working now. After all the games that bitch played, there's no way she's keeping in touch now," he snickered. The sound of the man's laugh rattled inside Navarion's skull and he already felt a sense of dislike for the man without knowing why.

Ignoring the slur, he tried to press further. "So I take it the woman doesn't work here, then?" Navarion asked insistently.

"Hell no; you'd hear that awful freaking voice in here like when she's pretending she isn't interested if she were here, you know what I'm saying?" The man slapped his knee and laughed so hard his molar teeth showed, and his two friends seemed to laugh solely because he was laughing so hard.

Even despite all the noise of everyone laughing, talking and shouting inside the bar, Navarion could hear his blood pressure rise in his ears. At first he didn't even notice it, but he quickly felt light headed and almost feverish, and it came on so quickly that he paused to let the group finish laughing while he tried to understand if his peanuts had been expired or not. Every shift the man made was starting to enrage him and he didn't even know why. Not a usual anger, but something deep, primal and beyond his own control.

"Where did you encounter her, then?" Navarion asked more directly, losing his casual and friendly edge and screwing any chances he might have had. "Was it at another place she was working at?"

"Who gives a shit? Look at all this tail we can find in here!" The night elf man gestured to the dark iron dwarf bartender, a goblin of indeterminable gender, an empty chair and a statue of a talking cigarette in his stupor. "Nobody cares about stuck up, uptight single moms who don't appreciate a free drink!"

The entire area, including two tables of people sitting across from them, fell into hushed silence when Navarion slammed his fist into the bar hard enough to send a few glasses airborne. The action has been totally involuntary, and he almost jumped himself when he felt the wooden top of the bar meeting the bottom of his fist. Although the noise in the establishment was too loud for the sound to carry far, everyone in the immediate vicinity heard it, and everyone bristled and stared - except the green haired man sitting next to him, who refused to budge or be intimidated. Arrogant and unrepentant, he casually took a shot glass that may not have even been his and downed it while continuing to look away as if the conversation were over.

"I asked you a fucking question, you're going to give me a fucking answer," Navarion growled at him in Darnassian, surprising himself at the sound of his own voice.

Cussing was taken lightly by night elves when speaking languages other than their own; a commonly made joke was that the laypeople believed if they cussed in a foreign language, Elune couldn't hear them. But to use dirty words in the language of the temple was taken seriously even by the roughest street people living outside of traditional Kaldorei lands; if they wanted to cuss, they'd usually just switch to Common or Orcish which were much more colorful languages in that respect. Using foul language in Darnassian was simply never done.

Attention grabbed but fear not stoked, the green haired man turned halfway toward the indigo haired half elf and shot him a look of mockery and derision. His young age became apparent as he took the F-bomb as some sort of a challenge.

"What's it to you, pal?" the man asked tauntingly, suddenly much more coherent than he'd been a moment ago. "Looking for your lady or something?" He turned back to his human companions and switched to Common, shouting to the amusement of some onlookers and the anxiety of others. "Hey, this guy has the hots for that twat that lost her job at Topaz!"

Grabbing the man by the collar to spin him around, Navarion brought his face close enough to the green haired man's to almost gore the guy with his tusks. Obviously irritated at being touched, the man did his best to conceal it and return a recalcitrant smirk.

"She worked at Topaz; then she started to work somewhere else. Where did she switch to?" he hissed in the night elf man's face, his hands almost shaking in anger by that point.

At first the night elf tried to casually knock Navarion's hand from his collar as if shooing the irate half night elf away like a child. When he found that Navarion was too strung to even be moved half an inch, the man's face fluctuated from spiteful to devious. "Wouldn't you like to know, loverboy! How does it feel to be chasing after some brokeass fucking short order cook gleaning drinks off of real men when you're away?" The man moved his hand as if he were preparing to throw a sucker punch, but Navarion yanked him forward out of his chair and then pushed him backward hard enough to knock the chair over into the man's friends and topple several drinks in the process.

"My pants!" one of the humans cried as actually his shirt got drenched.

One of the draenei sitting at a nearby table actually stood up to get a better view of the commotion, though most of the people inside the bar continued going about their business as if this was normal. The dark iron dwarf bartender dried off an oversize lager mug about ten times as she observed the boiling altercation, but made no move to call the bruisers. Not that the two men would have noticed anyway; Navarion retained his grip on the shirt collar of the green haired man, who had been surprised by the strength of the incensed half troll, and made no move to swing again. But defiant to the very end, he grinned wide enough to bare his fangs as if he'd gotten what he wanted.

"Hey guys, I think we found the secret admirer of Astra!"

"Don't you fucking say her name!" a voice that sounded like Navarion's hissed, though the words and emotions behind them felt foreign as a familiar yet long missing warmth fired up in his chest.

"How sad it must be to wander after a Goddess damn restaurant cook like a lost puppy that can't even find a pot to piss in!"

People in the immediate area began to stand up and back away, and even a few people at the tables behind that first row of tables began to watch the show. A piss drunk blood elf woman in the back even started to cheer the two men on as if it were a game.

"Motherfucker, you will tell me where she found work or so help me Goddess-"

"It's always so strange when one finds so much attention given to fat chicks!"

Navarion hadn't even remembered that he'd swiped his father's combat knife when back in Ratchet until he also realized that it was now buried in the soft tissue between the night elf man's bones and knee cartilage.

"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHH!"

"Holy fucking shit!"

"Oh my God!"

"Out of the way!"

Rolling around in the ground and screaming hysterically, the green haired man silenced the rest of the bar fairly quickly as he gripped his leg and literally sobbed, but took care not to directly touch the knife...which was sticking up out of his kneecap.

After listening to him scream for a few seconds, a goblin who had stood on top of a table for a better view looked to the night elf, then the half elf, then night elf, then the half elf and back and forth until his head snapped up.

"You just stabbed that guy in the kneecap!" the goblin half laughed and half stuttered while pointing directly at Navarion.

"I...w-what?"

"Hey everybody, a guy just stabbed another guy in the kneecap and now the guy is rolling around in the floor!"

"Somebody got slashed in the kneecap?"

"Hey, move out of the way, I want to see the guy whose kneecap got cut off!"

"Did somebody get bombed in the kneecap?"

"I think I heard a gnomish cluster bomb!"

The clamor immediately returned and numbers of months for a prison sentence began flashing before Navarion's eyes. How ironic that it was the knife of his father, who himself had spent a few years in prison, that might end up being responsible for the younger shadow hunter also getting locked up.

Sensing that time was running out, Navarion knelt down and grabbed the green haired man by the meat of his thigh, far away enough from the wound to avoid damaging the man's kneecap further but close enough to freak him out.

"Peachy Keen's! She was working at Peachy Keen's!"

Mercy won over rage as Navarion pulled the knife right out and sheathed it despite the green haired man's sobs of protest. Focusing his mana despite the growing crowd, he healed the cut the best he could and felt a surprising amount of the damage heal as well as the evidence disappear, though the man would likely be bedridden for at least a week. Once the job was finished, Navarion rose up and stared down at the mostly healed punk below him. As immature as Irien might tell him it was, stabbing the guy in the kneecap for insulting Astariel's weight actually did make him feel better.

Before he could gloat, a beer mug had already been broken over the back of his head, sending him forward into a group of empty chairs and making him see stars, if only for a second before his quick recovery put him back on his feet.

"That's what you get for stabbing my friend - oomph!"

By the time Navarion had braced himself against the bar and turned around, all he could see was one of the humans on the ground and bleeding from the nose and the other smashed through the short swinging door marking the entrance to the bar and pushed over to the pretzel machine just before Tiondel forcibly shoved the man's hand into the part that fried the dough.

"HHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO NONONONONONONONONO!" the human screamed as the skin of his hand was seared in the frier of the pretzel machine.

Before the burn became too bad, Tiondel pulled his hand back out and literally tossed the human into two of its friends, wearing similar work uniforms, who rushed the bar. The three humans collided hard and slumped to the ground just at the same time that the draenei who had been watching punched another draenei for no readily available reason, and all hell broke loose.

"Del, watch out!" Navarion yelled as he tried to stop a tauren who swung a pool cue at his younger brother. His legs were still wobbly from being hit in the back of the head with a beer mug, and he wasn't able to jump over the still injured green haired man in time.

The pool cue struck Tiondel's shoulder and broke in half, stinging him but also enraging him enough to kick the bull man in the balls. Sending the tauren to its knees, Tiondel quickly grabbed a decorative brass priest's mace from the wall and clobbered his attacker with it, sending the man reeling but also pulling at least three more people into the fight. Not wanting to pull his father's knife for fear of getting in even more trouble, Navarion grabbed a pool cue and tried to wield it like a monk's staff before realizing that he didn't know anything about monkery, and he ended up hitting a poorly suspended rafter near the ceiling that had carried a few dozen specialty lager mugs. The pool cue shook the rafter enough that the mugs fell to the floor and shattered, sending shards of glass everywhere.

Both brothers promptly leapt on top of a billiard table and were promptly pulled down by an angry mob of gnomes who had somehow out-brawled every single other race of people in the room and were slowly overwhelming the brothers with their tiny fists of fury. Pandemonium ensued as the entire room tried to subdue the miniature fighters until a shadowy figure, began grabbing the gnomes and using them as projectiles to throw at other people, to devastating effect. One in particular hit a human laborer so hard that it knocked the guy over the bar.

"What the hell did you guys do!" Sharimara yelled as she continued pelting anyone near the three siblings with gnomes.

Dazed on the floor and halfway under the billiard table, Navarion struggled until Tiondel started to pull him up. "It's a bar, this is probably normal for a place like this!" the younger brother shouted over the crashes and bangs of the forty person brawl.

"Astra switched to work at Peachy Keen's!" Navarion shouted just as the whistles of the bruisers could be heard at the main door.

A virtual stampede began as people from every nation of the world panicked and tried to avoid the short, diminutive goblin bruisers, easily one of the most terrifying security forces on Azeroth. Like an unstoppable force, the wave of armor clad goblins pushed back bar patrons of every size, throwing nets on those who hadn't escaped from the bar and clobbering those who resisted with their heavy clubs. Tiondel had barely managed to pull Navarion to his feet before the nets came down and the three siblings were hauled outside with the other troublemakers like sacks of potatoes.


	7. Investigation

Irien had been pinching the bridge of her nose for so long that she had left a mark. From the front of the police station, past the registration booth, down the hall past the security checkpoint, down the stairwell leading at least two stories into the ground and into the holding cells themselves, she continued pinching and shutting her eyes tight. Even when the chatty receptionist from the front finally led her to the cell where Navarion and Tiondel were being held and then stepped aside to give the family some privacy, continued pinching the bridge of her nose and refusing to look at the two incarcerated brothers.

Navarion tried to speak first. "Um...auntie-"

"Sshh."

Once she felt she had pinched the bridge of her nose enough, she tilted her head up and looked at her two godsons. In truth, she actually found the whole ordeal hilarious but she would never show that to them. As the tough disciplinarian of the family, she had a front to maintain and didn't want to give them the impression that crazy aunt Irien had softened up.

Murmuring low enough that they couldn't hear her, she watched as both brothers got up off the dirty mattresses they'd been given and stood in the other side of the bars. "What was that?" the older brother asked again.

She only murmured again, ensuring that her voice would be inaudible. When they moved right up against the bars to hear her, she shot her hands through at lighting speed and slapped them both hard.

"Ow! What the hell!"

"What the hell yourselves! You've got to be kidding me, you're both nearly half a century old, what in Elune's name are you thinking! I leave you all alone for one night, just one Goddess damned night, and you get arrested! In a foreign city! It couldn't have been even three hours since I'd last seen you - are you trying to wreck our reputations? You just stabbed someone in the kneecap and shoved another guy's hand into a pretzel frier, what the! Why couldn't you just hit them like normal people! A decorative mace from the era of the Second War has been ruined and a historic collection of lager mugs from Ironforge were broken! You have no idea how many bribes I had to pay in order to pin that on the other guys! The swinging door to the bar you smashed was made of mahogany and the pool cues were all custom made from Stormwind! I had to pay another set of bribes to convince them that the greenheaded idiot never got stabbed and just sprained his knee and that the human idiot stuck his own hand in the pretzel machine! And I still had to pay for half the repairs at the bar! Which both of you! Are going to pay back! By working for me at the Ratchet auction house when we get home!"

Chastised and sheepish, both brothers stared at the floor of the underground jailhouse for a moment while ostensibly giving Irien time to cool down. In reality she just needed time to collect herself so she wouldn't grin like a fool; she not only felt proud that her godchildren had handled themselves so well, but she also got a kick out of berating them and not feeling guilty about it.

"We're sorry, auntie...but at least we got some information out of it!" Navarion beamed. "Apparently Astra went to work at some place called Peachy Keen's after Topaz shut down."

"I saw it yesterday...it's in the nicer part of town, but it's only open during the can pass by there now." Irien turned to walk away without saying another word, knowing the two brothers would ask her what the plan was before letting her go.

"Auntie, wait! What's going to happen to us? What are we being charged with?" Tiondel asked, finally speaking up.

"I told you guys, you owe me a ton of money for the bribes I had to pay. You've been charged with disorderly conduct and only have to spend three more days down here. I even arranged for them to bring you guys a newspaper tomorrow. Won't that be fun?" Irien derived a little too much joy from torturing the grown children, but she would make sure to visit and bring them books and magazines on her own accord to keep them preoccupied. She loved teasing them, but she wasn't cruel.

Upon hearing her half truthful news, Tiondel turned and flopped back down on his mattress while Navarion continued to slump against the bars of the cell. "Mom and dad won't find out, will they?" he asked as she started to leave.

"No, then I have a feeling that I'd be in trouble with Cici, too. Just stay quiet and do what the guards say, and I'll have you guys out in three days. For now, I need to go slap Shari too and then find Astra and Zelda!"

* * *

"Ow! Auntie, they were the ones that started it!"

* * *

Given that the bribes had been paid, Irien had chatted up the lonely but boisterous receptionist and that her godchildren would be safe and sound, she was in no rush to find out answers immediately. The three of them had been arrested one night, and by the time Irien had returned to the hotel room, worried her ears off about where they could be and finally gotten word that three people with glowing silver eyes had been arrested, the morning had come. By the time she'd greased the right palms and had coffee and tea with the right people, night had nearly fallen again and the nicer restaurant this Astariel woman supposedly worked at would be closing. Instead of stressing all night wondering if Cecilia and Khujand had become suspicious by then - it had been eleven days since they'd left Ratchet without saying goodbye - Irien did what she loved most: played the auction house baroness.

Like most goblin cities, Gadgetzan's auction house was open twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. The amount of bribes she'd paid for her godchildren (without a second thought, as she wouldn't let them forget) hadn't been paltry, and they'd need that money back just in case. Setting to work once she'd eaten a greasy goblin meal, she fell into action. First, she bartered for assorted alchemy reagants that were typically used for specific rare potions and salves, and resold them for a higher price by packaging them together and targeting whoever bore the robes or carried the equipment of an alchemist. Second, she bought several hundred pounds of steel cable spools she found on discount from a defunct construction company trying to dump them. After hiring a group of Orc peons to haul them outside to the caravan waystation outside the city walls, she was able to sell them for double the price to a departing metals dealer from the Wetlands who didn't have the time to venture inside to the auction house himself. Third, she ran back inside, bought every scrap of mageweave cloth she could find, bought spools, paid a few unemployed humans to spool the cloth for her and resold it at triple the price to the understocked tailors in the street of Gadgetzan that was apparently specific to all things fabric. By the end of the night, she'd ended up with even more money than when they'd first left Ratchet and was able to return to the hotel for a quick nap before setting out to handle the reason they'd come to the city in the first place.

Stretching and going for a stroll after a good few hours sleep, Irien put on the gnomish engineered day vision goggles she always used if she had to be awake during the daytime. Even after mixing with other races, night elves were still nocturnal, and the sun still bothered their eyes. Some people used sunglasses or hats; she preferred electronic goggles. While they'd attract attention among her own kind, in a place with as many weirdos at Gadgetzan, she was nearly invisible among all the strange foreign hawkers and merchants from Outland. Taking her time strolling through the 'tourist' district and ignoring the gaudy sand paintings and glass camels, she worked her way around the narrow, serpentine roads of the city until she found herself toward the nicer district where families tended to live. Most of the buildings were still the typical square apartment blocks made of stone and covered in adobe, and it took her a few minutes to remember the location of the place she'd been looking for. Situated in between a coffee shop and a laundry detergent dealer, Peachy Keen's had a gigantic orange colored sign out front even though peaches aren't orange.

Shrugging and walking inside, Irien removed her day vision goggles and watched the relatively narrow, very modern style diner. It was perhaps half full but unlike the crowded bars of Main Street, the patrons here were all chatting quietly or alone and there were even a few goblins families accompanied by their children. Altogether a very cozy place, Irien was about to seat herself before a perky yet under slept jungle troll moved to grab her a menu.

"Good mornin' ma'am, welcome ta Peechy Keehn's," the most conservatively dressed Darkspear woman Irien and ever seen half beamed and half yawned as she walked inside. "Table fo one?"

"Yes please." Luckily for Irien, both of them felt tired and there was minimal talking as she picked out a dwarven style heavy breakfast of cheese and meet filled pastries, greasy boiled eggs and black coffee. If she was technically on a vacation, then it was as good a reason to eat like that as any other.

Scoping the place out, she was able to take a quick look just in case she was lucky enough for this Astariel person to be on duty that morning. Zorena and Navarion both had described her at different times, giving roughly the same image: a rather full bodied night elf, dressed even more conservatively than the Darkspear waitress and possibly covering her head, hair the color of blooming thistles, skin complexion of a very recognizable periwinkle. Kaldorei in general weren't hard to miss in Tanaris, and Kaldorei women wearing a size larger than ten were also rather rare. Whenever she found this woman, Irien was sure she wouldn't have any doubts about it. But on that morning, aside from the mostly goblin and gnomish patrons, there were only a jungle troll, two goblins and a human working at the restaurant, though from the side of the door to the kitchen the hunched back of a tauren cook could just barely be seen.

It was entirely possible that Astariel was concealed by the tauren, as there certainly had to be more than one cook. It was also possible that she worked a different shift or in different days. In theory, it was also possible that she hadn't been one of the initial wave of former Topaz staff members to jump ship, though that was a prospect that Irien tried to put out of her mind.

When the jungle troll woman returned bearing fattening dwarven eats, Irien smiled pleasantly at the weary waitress. "Excuse me, but do you know if former staff members from that joint called Topaz came to work here when it closed down a few weeks ago?" she asked as casually as she could.

At first the woman blinked and mulled the question over in her head, though whether it was due to being so tired or not understanding Common fluently, Irien did not know. "Oh...um...Topaz? Dat place got closed months ago mebbe, not weeks. We got a few heya, yeah." Once the woman finished setting up the separate plates, she gave Irien the look of someone who wanted to help but kind of wanted to go collapse on a choice as well. "Lookin' for sumone ya know?"

"Well, not personally; a friend of a friend who needs to get in touch with her. Does someone named Astariel work here?"

Recognizing the name, the jungle troll answered a little faster this time. "Naw, Astra never worked heya, but I heard of her. Most of us servers talk. One of her coworkers came ovah heya dough, a Forsaken lady. She works in da back, dya want me to see if she be free aftah her shift ends?" the waitress asked in a much heavier accent than the Darkspear that Irien was friends with back at Ratchet.

"If you don't mind; I would like to talk to her for a few minutes of that's alright."

Snorting her confirmation, the waitress hurried off to refill a few coffee mugs before disappearing in the back room of the restaurant. A few minutes passed while Irien tried to scarf down her searing hot boiled eggs before they became cold, enjoying the peace and quiet of the place despite her dislike over being awake at such an hour. By the time she'd finished half her coffee and one of her meaty pastries, the waitress had come back, stopping at her table before delivering some waffles to a professionally dressed Orc couple the next table over.

"Esmeralda's gonna have a break in a hour or so. Ya can meet her at tha palm garden out back if ya wanna see her. Ya can't miss her."

"Great news, thank you so much!" Irien watched the waitress wander off to handle more early morning patrons and promptly finished her breakfast before figuring out what she'd need to do.

An hour didn't give her enough time to actually return to the inn nor the auction house, thus leaving her with a great deal of time to force herself to stay awake in anticipation of meeting one of the former Topaz staff members. One cup of coffee turned into two and then three, and soon enough Irien found herself moderately jittery. After paying, she tried to work out some of the caffeine by going for a walk but the wind was blowing so much that sand wafted through the streets and irritated her nose. Hacking and coughing, she ended up pretending to browse in a taxidermy shop until she actually ended up enjoying much of what she saw and bought a preserved jackalope to give to Anathil and Tan'jin whenever they returned from their latest trip on behalf of the family business.

Stuffed anamoly packaged and in hand, Irien found her way to the palm tree garden nestled between the back of the restaurant, the laundry detergent store and a housewares shop facing the next street over. It was a quiet little place, open to the sky but closed off from the street and the sand that seemed to find its way into every nook and cranny, and there was even a small fountain and a patch of grass to boot. There were also numerous cigarette butts and an overstuffed trash can, but those elements were par the course for a break area used by the employees of at least four or five establishments. A handful of people from the housewares shop and another store a few places down stopped by to smoke, drink water or just crash on the benches for a few minutes, but by the time an hour had passed Irien found herself alone again.

When the Forsaken woman who had once worked at Topaz emerged from the back door of Peachy Keen's, Irien understood what the jungle troll woman had meant when she mentioned that her coworker would be hard to miss.

Her cook's outfit was neat and well kept, and her brittle grey hair had been combed as well as it could and tied in a near perfect bun at the back of her head. Her fingernails, which Irien assumed continued growing even in undeath, were neatly filed and clean, and even the way the woman walked lacked the limps or lurches common to the Forsaken. Her glowing blue eyes signifies that she was neither dead nor alive, but we're almost pleasant in a way.

None of that could distract from her skin, however. There were no obvious injuries, no bruises, cuts or abrasions. She wasn't emaciated like many of her kind nor did any of her limbs appear deformed. In fact, in the right light, her silhouette would have made her appear like a normal human. Wearing her day vision goggles, however, Irien had a very clear look at the dark grey skin the color of burnt wood. Hard as a rock and totally lacking in any moisture or softness, Irien reckoned that were she to whack the Forsaken with a cricket bat, it might shatter on impact. The woman's joint movement was fluid and uninhibited despite the brittle appearance of her skin, but she looked burnt out nonetheless. Deep cracks covered every inch of her body without actually exposing any of her innards, and no veins could be seen throughout her. Aside from the color, her skin almost looked like the badlands and cracked earth of Durotar or the actual Badlands themselves. It was as if the poor woman had been dried out and left to burn under the sun, yet she still carried herself with an amount of dignity and self respect that made Irien smile despite not recognizing her.

Standing with her hands loose at her sides, the woman gave Irien a blank stare. "Are you the one looking for former Topaz workers," she droned in a wheezy, weathered voice typical of the Forsaken.

"Yes, actually...I asked around inside about an hour ago. I was hoping to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

Standing and staring blankly for another moment, the odd woman appeared to be neither considering it nor daydreaming but simply existing, yet her mode of speech was coherent and intelligent. "I don't mind," she droned again, but she continued standing and staring.

Irien had never been one to feel uncomfortable in social situations, but something about the woman was a bit off. It was to be expected from someone who had lived, died then been caught in between, but the night elf sharpshooter turned auction house baroness had grown so used to Valmar and his lively voice and mannerisms that she'd forgotten how the majority of Forsaken, no longer members of the Horde and largely withdrawn from the world outside Lordaeron, truly behaved. Pushing those thoughts aside, she scooted the package containing the stuffed jackalope over to give the woman space to sit. Readily obliging, the Forsaken sat with perfect posture by the standards of human ladies, once again contrasting her mannerisms to her voice and appearance.

Ever the businesswoman, Irien would have liked to cut directly to the purpose of the meeting. She didn't know this woman, however, and didn't know how forthcoming she'd be with answers about a third party to a complete stranger. "You're name is Esmerelda, right? That's a pretty name. I think I heard it a few times before," she said in the most congenial way possible, trying to feel the woman's temperament out first.

"Thank you."

The woman didn't even blink after answering and continued to stare. It wasn't a blank stare anymore and there was obviously conscious thought floating through her head, but it was impossible to decipher.

"I'm Irien by the way. Irien Rainsong. I'm passing through town at the moment and, well, I'm looking for a friend of a friend." When the woman didn't react, Irien considered repeating herself but decided against it since it was clear that the woman's hearing wasn't impaired. "Do you think you could help me?"

"I think I can help you."

The woman was growing creepier by the minute, yet Irien wouldn't have been able to articulate why to someone who hadn't been there. Her posture was relatively alert as were her eyes, and she displayed no signs of mental impairment. She just seemed...off.

"So...I hear there were contractual issues between the restaurant and...I guess between the management and the building owners, was that the case?"

"That was the case."

"And then things got shut down, apparently. I'm assuming that caused a lot of problems for all of you that worked there." Once again, Esmerelda didn't react, and Irien tried rephrasing her statement as a question. "Did that cause problems for those of you that worked there?"

"It caused problems for those of us that worked there."

Realizing she'd respond to direct questions, Irien sighed and prepared herself for a difficult discussion. "What did you all do once the restaurant shut down?" she asked, trying to see how the woman would react to an open question.

Not pausing for a minute, Esmerelda seemed ready to answer despite her terse nature. "Not all of us did the same thing. Different individuals did different things." She promptly resumed her at ease posture afterward, and one consolation of prying information out of the woman was that she made it very clear when she had finished talking.

"What types of things?" Irien asked.

"Peachy Keen's, bars on Main Street and emigration."

"Alright, so you and a few others, I'm assuming, work here. And more people left to all those crowded bars. And some people left Tanaris - in two separate groups, correct?"

"That is correct."

"Alright...Esmerelda, there's someone specific I'm looking for - that friend of a friend I told you about. Her name is Astariel and she's a night elf like me. Do you know her?"

"I know her."

"Good! That's good news," Irien chirped, relaxing despite her interlocutor's weirdness. "Did she work here at Peachy Keen's before?"

"She worked here at Peachy Keen's before."

At that, Irien had to stifle a laugh. This woman was much less creepy and much more pleasant when she was yielding helpful information. "So why did she stop working here?"

"Because the wages were lower than what she needed to send her daughter to school."

"Oh...that's a real shame, actually," Irien sighed, feeling a legitimate sadness. She didn't know who the woman was or how she'd gotten tangled up with Navarion, but the fact that her daughter was a Hearthglen created an attachment in her heart. "Where is she working now?"

"At the Port of Winterspring."

Irien's eyes grew as wide as saucers, and her heart rate accelerated in a way that made her physically uncomfortable. "I beg your pardon?"

"At the Port of Winterspring."

"Oh my...that's serious. That means she emigrated with some of the other former staff members, right?"

"That's right."

"Shit. How long ago was this?"

"Two months, three weeks and four days ago."

Crooking her neck back, Irien found her train of thought temporarily derailed as she marveled at the certainty in which Esmerelda spoke of the exact day. "Impressive...uh...alright. Do you know why Astra and a few others chose the Port of Winterspring of all places?" she asked as she tried to wrap her head around the fact that they were at the wrong city and even the wrong hemisphere of the planet.

"Part of the former management of Topaz took up work at two separate restaurants there. Many of the former staff members hoped to receive jobs there based on reputation."

"Well, that's good news I suppose. Are you still in contact with Astra now?"

"I am not in contact with Astra now."

"Do you at least know the names of these restaurants?"

"I do not know the names of these restaurants."

"Do you know what part of that city your former coworkers are living in?"

"I don't know what part of that city my former coworkers are living in."

Frustrated and amused at once, Irien took her turn staring at Esmerelda this time. The woman seemed honest and cognizant of what she was being asked, and her memory appeared quite sharp. She had also been rather helpful, for which Irien was grateful, but she and her godchildren also had a rather daunting task ahead of them. After spending nearly two weeks away from home at the other end of the continent, they'd have to fly to the exact opposite end and go on another blind search for the missing Hearthglen, and this time it would be in a city none of them had ever visited - despite being a city of the ancient night elves, the Port of Winterspring was a new development that had been grown only a decade before, right around the time Navarion had first left on his last stint as a mercenary in the first place.

Turning back to Esmerelda after some time - the woman was so distant that she probably wouldn't be offended by the long pause - Irien suddenly felt very tired. "Esmerelda, you've helped my friends and I so much. We lost contact with Astra and have been searching so hard for her; I don't know what I would have done without you." Once again the Forsaken didn't answer, and Irien began to wonder about her name again. "Esmerelda...do you know your last name?" the night elf asked curiously.

"I don't know my last name."

"How do you know that your first name is Esmerelda, then?"

"I was a member of the Scourge in the Plaguelands. Several years ago a scout team from Undercity turned me and gave me my consciousness back and I became a citizen of the Forsaken. When I woke up, I was wearing this." More animated than she had been but still a bit dry in more ways than one, Esmerelda lifted a necklace that bore a weathered pewter pendant bearing her name on it. "It's the only connection I have to who I once was before the Scourge took me."

Memories flashing before her eyes, Irien edged a little closer to the creepy woman, looking her over carefully. The cracks in her face weren't as deep as those on her neck and arms, the only exposed flesh due to her conservative waitress uniform. We're she to be viewed in a certain light where the cracks couldn't be seen, her features would be considered rather pretty, and there was a certain familiarity in the way she'd constantly nod her head to the left when speaking.

Digging through the most recent images in her mind since her people's immortality had ended, Irien decided that since she'd have at least three more days with her godchildren in jail, she'd try to sate her curiosity. "Esmerelda, do you remember anything else from your past? Anything at all?" the formerly immortal being asked the currently immortal being.

"I do not remember anything else from my past."

Waiting until it clicked, Irien felt another pang of sadness in her heart. "I think I know who you used to be," Irien said, completely awestruck. "Do you remember the name Motrikskov? Does that bring any sort of recollection to you?"

This time, Esmerelda paused for a long time. The same blank look took over her face, yet there was something inside; some gears turning. Finally blinking for once, she looked back at Irien in a way that could almost have been described as emotional. She scooted a little bit closer in the bench, and gradually her movement became a little less stiff and rigid.

* * *

Navarion shifted on the thin, overused mattress for a fifth time, completely unaware that he was being watched. Tiondel's chest heaved up and down slowly as the younger brother remained in a deep sleep, almost at home as the pair waited for their release.

Despite their rude awakening, their godmother still saved them from an even ruder one.

"Shari, don't do that!" Irien scolded the youngest sister in the family loud enough for both brothers to sit up.

"Huh...what?"

Already having been released, Sharimara stood just outside the bars next to Irien, holding a paper bag in her hand that she had already blown up and prepared to burst to see if her brothers would jump. Showing a small amount of mercy, Irien stopped her just in time and prevented another minor squabble from breaking out.

"Auntie, we've been in here three days, I'm so bored!" Sharimara whined like a child, obviously itching to just get out.

"Hey, why did she get released before us?" Navarion asked just as childishly.

"It's only a five minute difference. Come on, Astra is in Winterspring." Irien casually directed the bruiser on duty to unlock the cell for the two brothers, ignoring Navarion's gaping jaw as she rattled off the news as if it were a minor detail.

"Um...auntie...I think you need to qualify that statement," he mumbled while helping Tiondel to his drowsy, uncoordinated feet.

Laughing to herself, Irien felt a little contrite for not having told them the other day when she'd brought them all newspapers and magazines. "I tracked down one of the former Topaz cooks and Peachy Keen's. Astra tried working at the place but the wages weren't enough to pay for Zelda's schooling. She, some other ex staff members and part of the management emigrated to the Port of Winterspring en masse. They're working at three different restaurants, but the woman I talked to doesn't know what they're called or what part of that city the workers are living in. Plus, none of us have been there before - we'll be going in blind."

Rubbing his face with both hands as he and Tiondel exited and followed Irien down the long underground hall, Navarion sighed deeply through his nose. "At least we know for sure where she is now," he mumbled.

"It was a worthwhile trip. Had we not come here, we wouldn't know anything at all," Sharimara told him while patting him on the back a little too hard. "We're going to find Zelda, don't worry."

Tiondel shook his head. "We can't immediately. We've been gone from home for two weeks. Mom and dad will be suspicious by now for sure. We should at least spend a few days at home since it's on the way."

"Could we just...rest for a day or two before we take off?" Navarion asked the group.

"No rest for the wicked," Sharimara joked.

"We can rest at home with Cici and Khuj. Hopefully, that will give us some time to figure out what exactly we'll do, too; we sort of planned on winning it this time." Irien turned back to the three siblings as they began to ascend the staircase out of the jail. "We're very, very close. One way or another, we will find this girl soon."


	8. The Past is the Past

After having ridden all night from Gadgetzan to New Taurajo via Freewind Post, the quartet stopped only for a four hour nap inside a rent-a-tepee before flying the rest of that day to Ratchet via the Crossroads. Eyes salty, thighs aching and backs hurting, they all came to land at the flight point at the main western gates of the city to avoid detection. The moon had just started to rise and the coyotes were calling out as they checked in their wyverns, but they only had a precious few minutes to stretch before they could return home. Since none of them actually knew what sort of story Valmar had concocted for their parents, they had to sneak through the city undetected and reach his small home behind the library before they could show their faces.

Getting there was easy enough, and the deadman happened to be watering his petunias as they rounded the corner on his busy, narrow but well kept street in one of the more upscale neighborhoods in the city. Waiting patiently until they were at his doorstep, he put the water pot away and whisked them all inside silently, waiting for them to collapse on his couches in the one room home with a loft (since he was undead, he needed neither a bed nor a toilet).

Once they'd finished panting and thanking him profusely for covering their trail, Irien took the lead. "So what's the cover story?" she asked while popping a joint in her neck.

"You all accepted a kill quest in Stonetalon for a swarm of corrupted squirrels but were quickly overwhelmed and spent a week hiding in a lake with nothing but water chestnuts for sustenance."

For a moment, the whole group sat quietly while they considered what he'd said. Then they all laughed, assuming it was a joke. Then they all cringed, realizing that he was being serious.

"What...the...f-"

"There actually are corrupted squirrels in Stonetalon right now and a number of adventuring parties were chased out of there. It fits in perfectly with the news your parents have heard at social gatherings and will cover your trail completely. It's the best option you have."

Sharimara almost stood up, but Irien quickly silenced her by raising her hand. "If that's what you deem the most effective at covering our trail, then that's the story we'll all stick to. Right, guys?" She leaned a little closer to her goddaughter when the warden just folded her arms and pouted like a gigantic, Amazonian child. "Right?"

"Alright, alright."

"Good. Now that we have that sorted out, we need to figure out how we'll get to the Port of Winterspring."

Much more animated than almost any other undead, Valmar crooked his entire head to the side to face Irien, rattling his tin mask in the process. "Winterspring? I assumed you'd already found the girl and reconciled with her mother!"

"It's a long...long...long story, but the short version is that Astra moved to Tanaris to work as a cook and the restaurant got shut down, so she and a bunch of her colleagues switched over to the Port of Winterspring," Sharimara spat out in one breath.

"Oh my...that really is quite a bit of moving for such a young girl," Valmar murmured, showing a great deal of concern over Zelda despite having no relation. "Have you at least written to her mother in advance, to let her know that you'd like to visit?"

"We don't have an address or a place of work; we just know that the workers split up across three separate restaurants and that they left an entire two and a half months ago," Irien explained in exasperation as if she'd already done so too many times.

When Valmar looked down in disappointment, Sharimara jumped in, good intentioned as always. "Don't worry, Zorena reroute the account you use to support Zelda through the Sisterhood of Elune. So no matter where you send your money, it will reach her. Thanks for doing that, by the way," she said matter-of-factly as if it were a minor detail.

Everybody looked a bit embarrassed, especially Navarion and Valmar, and the Forsaken just rubbed the back of his leather clad neck for a moment. "Ah...you're welcome, regarding that matter," he mumbled.

"Aaaanyway, we need to figure out what to do for now. We can rest up for a few days and relax since we know where they are, but soon enough we'll need to get going. I don't think it would be prudent to tell Cici and Khuj until we've already spoken to Astra and gauged how she'll react to the family's request to see Zelda; there's no point in getting their hopes up before we even know Zelda's living situation." Everyone nodded in agreement to Irien's statement, listening closely as the businesswoman tried to organize their action plan out loud. "So we need to spend some time here and then find another reason to leave, and the demonic squirrel army won't cut it a second time."

"About that trip, Lady Rainsong," Valmar said in a cautious voice. "I don't think you should go on the next trip."

Almost a bit offended, Irien remained calm aside from the slight droop to her ears. "Whatever for?"

"You've been a constant fixture of the Hearthglen household for as long as it's been a household. In more than four decades, you've left Ratchet for even less collective time than Cecilia and Khujand themselves. The two week foray into Stonetalon - as far as they know - is minor. Another trip for possibly another two weeks so soon after this one may cause them to ask questions. Answering those questions before we even know the living situation of Astariel and how she will react to Navarion's desire to be a part of his daughter's life may not be the most prudent course of action."

"He's right, auntie. Valmar, you should come next time, and Del should stay too," Sharimara quipped.

"Wait, what?" the deadman asked first.

"Shari, what are you talking about?" Irien asked second.

"Can I just skip this little meeting and go home and eat if I don't need to go along for the next trip?" Tiondel asked third.

Despite her flippant comment, Sharimara began to explain her reasoning surprisingly well. "Irien has always been at home but so has one of us, all the time; mom and dad always need at least one of us at home to smother. All they've had is Venjai and as much as they love being grandma and grandpa, they'll start to wonder eventually."

"Actually, Anathil and Tan'jin arrived home almost a week ago, but your point still stands," Valmar added.

"We definitely aren't going to let them know, either...but in that case, leaving one of the siblings back here to cover our behinds would help me out a bit," Irien conceded despite her obvious desire to come along and see Zelda. "But why Del and not you?"

"Del still works at the alchemy shop on and off. Dad will watch him like a hawk since he's back and probably be in him every day not to spend too much time out of work. My work is nothing but quests, like Navarion, so even if we only stay a few days, mom and dad will accept it," Sharimara continued. "And you can cover for Valmar since he won't be around town, at least not at the same time as them, as far as they know. Since he's been helping to pay for the costs of Zelda's education, Astariel likely won't react to him in hostility like she might to Navarion." Her tone was casual and her words were logical, but that didn't stop Navarion's ears from drooping even lower than Irien's and he wished he could have turned invisible.

It only took everyone a second of thinking before the plan was accepted. "Alright...I really wanted to come along, but I understand what you're saying. How long should you wait before leaving?"

"Give it at least a week," Valmar suggested. "That will allow plenty of time for things to return to normal at your home, as well as give us time to formulate a cover for your leaving."

"Can we please go eat now? We've been riding for days and just grabbed some jerky back at Taurajo," Tiondel asked.

"Of course, filling your stomach is certainly more important than finding our niece," Sharimara shot back at him.

"Knock it off, we're all going to eat now!" Irien rose as did the others, though she turned to face Valmar before walking out. "You have no idea how much you've helped the family. I'll make sure your covered while in Winterspring."

"It was nothing, Lady Rainsong; yourself, Cecilia and Khujand are the reason I found my way to this community in the first place. I could not, in good conscience, leave one of the family's grandchildren to live without support, even if the mother preferred to keep her life separate from yours."

Pausing and sighing before she walked out the door, Irien's ears drooped again. "I understand...I just hope that this woman understands when we find her and ask to see her daughter."

Days passed at home as usual. As Navarion had expected, his parents really had missed them more than a usual family despite the separation having only been for two weeks. As if he didn't need any more pangs of guilt, they constantly doted on him, Sharimara and Tiondel as if they'd returned from a war and kept them busy for the first few days by asking about the trip and calling long family dinners. And lunches. And breakfasts. And even brunches. By the end of the first few days, Anathil, who had already been home for a week before they arrived, began to get jealous, ever the family's big baby despite being Navarion's age and having two children of her own.

At least Irien had managed to make a big show out of giving Anathil and her husband the taxidermed jackalope. Ever the conservative Druid, Tan'jin had balked at the sight of one of Elune's creatures gutted and stuffed but accepted the give anyway for fear of appearing rude to his wife's crazy aunt. That was certainly a meal to remember.

Once things had quieted down at home, life returned to usual in the Hearthglen household. Since he and his youngest sister would be leaving again very soon, ostensibly using another quest as an excuse, he made a point not to accept any other quests he noticed posted on the billboard near the western gate of town. It was an exercise to stroll through town every day and see all the other adventurers geared up and ready to go and simply walk away. Ever since the events of eight years ago, he'd resigned himself to questing only with family members, and only within the Barrens or, occasionally, Ashenvale. That had become nearly a weekly excursion, and holding himself back inside the confines of Ratchet was almost as difficult as holding himself back from the bars and taverns both at the marina district and the upper southern bluffs.

Truth be told, he did manage to drink twice during the first few days. Never enough to get drunk, but just enough to date the dry scratch at the back of his throat. Sobriety was maddening, and during the waiting period he found himself not only trying to distract himself from his imaginary thirst but from paranoid thoughts about what exactly would happen when they found who they were looking for.

Navarion had been a larger number of woman that he would have liked to admit. Most men bragged about the number of their conquests and even embellished their tales, but when he found himself no longer needing to embellish, it didn't feel like conquest anymore. No, it felt more like lonliness and loss, as if he'd wasted years of his life away by failing to form lasting emotional connections to women. We're he twenty years younger, he'd dismiss such thoughts and celebrate what he would have viewed as a sign of virility and manhood; past forty, however, he viewed it as a failure to build a stable life for himself and the ritualizaiton of the most beautiful form of connection into a mere bodily function. Nothing special and nothing magical, no different from blowing his nose or going to the toilet.

Many a morning, after most of his family had gone to bed, he found himself sitting at the historic Broken Keel Tavern where his parents used to go to have non-alcoholic drinks and staring into the bar long after revelers had gone home and workers had come in for early morning fare. Occasionally, he'd see women he'd dated in the past; as a general rule he tried never to get involved with women in his hometown, another part of his unstable love life, but there had been a handful. Both his parents, even his jungle troll father, encouraged the Hearthglen children to only get involved with elves due to the lifespan issues; Cecilia was so ancient that her lifespan just happened to match up with Khujand's, but as night elves who had lived before immortality slowly died of old age one by one, those situations were fewer and fewer. To get involved with the younger lived races would only invite heartbreak, his parents, told him, though watching a handful of ex-girlfriends walk in and out of the bar hurt in a different way. Mostly Darkspear with a smattering of Orc women, all of them had aged while he, as a half elf, had remained young in appearance. Mature, dignified and responsible, the majority of them were married and a few even passed by with children in tow. As if he radiated his melancholy, they all avoided his gaze as well, passing by in a sort of demonstration of how life had moved on, with or without him.

All the while, the nagging feeling wouldn't cease in the back of his mind: what had he done?

On some level, he would always care for Astariel. True, they had been together only a single night and he had been inebriated and emotionally distraught, but it was beyond that. For half of a year, they were close friends who were attracted to each other. He had tried to tell himself that were situations different and had he not been with someone else, there would have been a chance, but eventually that chance came and he panicked. She was too sweet, too innocent, too good natured for a lout like him. He almost felt unworthy of the attention given to him by a person who didn't even cuss when she stubbed her toe on a table leg. He thought he had done the right thing by pushing her away and giving her a chance to find someone a more appropriate match for her. Had he known she had gotten pregnant from only one night together, things would have been different.

Pregnant...that was the most difficult thing to wrap his head around. Somewhere out there lived a girl who didn't have a father, because that man was him. He had a daughter. Navarion, the irresponsible ex-mercenary who had spent most of his life putting it at risk of premature death by running across the world playing the lone wolf, soldier or fortune role as if it were all a game, had a daughter. And he hadn't been there for her.

Would she even want him to be a part of her life? The question kept ringing in his head even after he paid for his last watered down drink once the moon had already set. If she were as intelligent as Zorena had claimed, then even at seven years old she should be cogent enough to understand that she had a choice to see him or not. That was all assuming she only knew that he existed out there, somewhere; there was no telling what Astariel had told Zelda about him. When he left New Nendis, he hurt her perhaps more than anybody else had in her sheltered life; the look in her eyes when she shut the door of her apartment in his face wasn't that of someone playing hard to get or holding out hope that he'd come running back to her. It was the finality of someone who was so offended that she really didn't want him anymore. That was fine and not fine in a way. Fine in that they didn't have to be together; many people raised children with their ex-spouse without incident, and even became respectful friends. Not fine in that if she had been upset enough, she might have filled Zelda's head with a bunch of negativity regarding him. And since her mother was the one who had struggled so hard to raise her, the girl would almost assuredly listen to whatever she said. And Navarion wouldn't be able to blame either of them.

The tap on his shoulder sent him into a minor panic as he realized he'd been discovered at a bar by none other than his 'twin' sister (twin because she had been adopted three days after his birth). Only little Anathil, whom everybody called 'little' despite the fact that she'd been the first to give grandchildren to their parents, tapped so lightly and practically exuded irreverence like that.

"You're not supposed to be here," she hummed to him like a child despite being as old as him.

"Same goes for you," he replied while promptly paying his tab and stepping down off the barstool.

When he finished straightening out his shirt, he tried to walk outside with her without meeting her eyes, which immediately aroused her suspicion. Being a traditional troll-style shadow priestess herself, Anathil's voodoo was just as powerful as his, and there was no way to spy on her reactions by listening to the spirits. He'd simply have to talk to her on equal footing as a normal person, which he didn't feel comfortable with one bit. Few people knew him as well as his 'twin' sister. She linked their arms together as they walked outside, but pulled him toward a street on the lower northern side rather than the winding road leading to the upper northern bluffs where they lived.

Already sensing that he was in for a lecture, he found no reason to flee. "I've just been trying to figure some things out," he murmured while they shielded their glowing eyes from the sun and dodged the early morning foot traffic of goblin and gnomish workers.

"Something is wrong, though. You're trying to figure out some sort of problem. And you're not telling any of us what it is." Her voice was gentle and lacked the judgmental tone of their middle sister Issinia, but her words were piercing and accurate nonetheless. They turned onto a familiar residential street on a slight incline, and he found himself muted by the memories. "Do you remember playing here when we were kids?" she asked as they passed a popular grocer whose ceiling was only high enough for goblins, gnomes and dwarves.

"Oh Loa...it's been a few years since we've walked through here, but it's literally two minutes from our part of town," he marveled as they counted the houses on the smaller street only they, as the two oldest siblings, could remember.

"Or a short drop if you're willing to jump down from the roads up the sides of the bluffs!" Anathil pointed to a spot of paved road protected by a railing on the higher level roads at the edge of the cliff face in northern Rachet. The houses had been built right up against it, but there was a gap where a patch of bushes lay in between two houses. "Remember when that human kid Ryan jumped and sprained both ankles?"

"Yeah, every other kid thought they were going to get blamed and none of us helped him! Boy, that must have been...well, over thirty years ago!" Both his nostalgia and his sense of loss at having grown so old battled in his mind as they came to stop at an all too familiar duplex built in the goblin style but with extra high ceilings. The two separate families renting the units from their parents and Irien didn't recognize the two glowing eyed beings going for a walk and continued about their business. "Wow...this is it. The house you and me were conceived at," he said in awe once more.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it? The family came a long way. Shari and Del had just been born when we moved out, and now Tan'jin is already talking about getting Venjai married because he's too girl crazy."

"Your hubby is a little old fashioned. Just a little," he joked while searching for a spot where he'd thrown a carton of eggs on the concrete walkway from the second story window as a child. When his sister continued admiring the house the two of them had grown up in for half their childhoods, he turned to her again. "So why the trip down memory lane? What's up?"

For a moment longer, she continued to watch before pulling them further down the street. "Someone wants to see you actually, which made me need to see you first."

Confused by her cryptic words, he tried a more direct approach. "I'm fine, really; I'm just trying to figure out some things."

"Would it be your long term plans aside from waking up, delivering herbs to dealers and taunting yourself by hanging at bars while pretending you won't drink?"

"Careful, Thanil; those words cut deep," he chuckled nervously as they rounded a corner and approached a familiar beachside restaurant that catered mostly to a family crowd. "But yes, you could say it's my future that's occupying my thoughts."

"I thought so. And you might be able to hide things from mom since you've turned that into a science, but dad is starting to get suspicious."

"Dad is always suspicious all the time."

"Anyway, I know you like to keep your private life private, but you know the family is here for you. I wish you'd open up a little more; I don't enjoy seeing you so blue," Anathil chuckled just as nervously, though there was a little more sadness in her voice.

They came up short at the edge of the open air restaurant. It mostly consisted of round tabled covered by umbrellas and a hut for taking orders and preparing food, all on a cement platform in front of the sand that marked the start of the public beach. The two of them had grown up swimming in the ocean almost daily and the memories added to the blue atmosphere.

"Hey, come on, don't be like that," Navarion said while nudging his sister on the arm. "It's not a big deal. I'm just over the hill and trying to deal with my later maturation. Not all of us can be as lucky as you, Issa and Zengu."

"If you say so..." Her sadness passed quickly even though he could tell that she didn't quite believe him. They tried to watch the shimmering water of the ocean, but their nocturnal, drowsy eyes had difficulty due to the brightness of the sun. "Nepha is getting married."

For a moment, Anathil's comment didn't register. Although Navarion did make an effort to keep in touch with their childhood friends, his mind had been so numb and distant the past eight years that his contact was intermittent at best. But the mention of Nephentha, the only daughter of Ratchet's only family of naga, brought him back.

Most of their race was hostile to every other living thing on the planet, but much like his own parents, Nephentha's mother and father had run away to Ratchet in order to be together due to lack of acceptance among their own people; her father had been born of higher caste than her mother, dooming their chances. In such a multiracial city, however, the scaly, serpentine girl grew up as just another person in the crowd, and nobody had treated her differently just because she had coils instead of legs. She had been a close friend of Issinia but an even closer friend of Navarion; if Anathil knew him better than anybody, Nephentha knew him better than anybody except Anathil. That he'd been in such poor contact with his friends that he was apparently the last to find out the scaly woman was now getting married made him feel like a buffoon.

"Oh...oh! Nepha is getting...married? To another naga?"

Giggling like their mother, Anathil let go of his arm and led him onto the concert platform of the restaurant. "I don't think their race can intermarry with any other race, technically speaking, so yes. They're getting married soon, at some place in Dustwallow. Some of us are having a ladies only party for her but we won't be able to attend the wedding itself."

"When did this happen?" he asked, completely dumbstruck.

"A few weeks back, while you guys were gone. We've all been busy since you returned, and you've been busy, so I guess there was no time to tell you. She and her mom have a lot of preparations but I was with her a while back and she asked if she could see you for a few. She's over there." Anathil pointed to a serpentine figures curled up on one of the benches across the concrete patio, nursing a fruit drink and chatting to the gnome server.

"Yeah...I'm tired, but I can definitely take some time for Nepha." He looked and saw that his sister was still standing off to the side of the patio. "You're heading home?"

"For now, I am. Hyptu gave us a hard time today, and Tan'jin hit the bed like a sack," Anathil laughed, referring to the younger of her two sons. "I'll give you two some time and go sleep." Never really in the habit of saying goodbye to her siblings, she turned and walked back up the street where they'd grown up and disappeared around the corner, leaving him to part with yet another piece of his past.

As always, she didn't turn to see him but smiled wryly as he approached her table and sat down. Most of her drink had been finished, and she appeared rather relaxed if as distant as him as she watched the waves crash on the shore. It was a pleasant atmosphere given that there weren't any other customers at the usually packed beachside restaurant yet, and the two of them were able to enjoy a few minutes of silence.

The opalescent crest on her head shone in the sunlight, similar to her eyes. Ever demure per her people's highborne heritage, a polite nod was all she gave in acknowledgment of him in lieu of a handshake or hug. Sitting next to her had a sort of calming effect on anyone who knew her, and he wondered why he had ever lost touch for so long.

"Congratulations," he mumbled, still a bit embarrassed to be finding out so late.

"Thank you." Her continued wry smile gave on that she knew of his embarrassment, but had the decency not to tease him about it. After another sip of her drink, she rested her chin on her hand. "You've been gone a long time."

"Oh, it was only two weeks, wasn't it? We were just over in Stonetalon."

Mincing no words and wasting no time, she was just as direct as him, though usually only with him. "That's not what I meant," she chuckled again, keeping good humor despite her seriousness.

"Yeah...I understand. It's been a strange few years, I suppose." Changing the subject before she could push him just yet, he tried to focus on her news. "So spill the beans: who is this guy? How did you meet him?"

"I haven't met him yet, actually; it's arranged."

"Your parents fought to be together despite your clan's traditions, and then they push you into an arranged marriage?"

"No, no, you can calm down; they didn't have to push me," she laughed more deeply, seeming quite entertained by his reaction. "It's so difficult to find members of our race who aren't hostile to the idea of living among others that I had no way of meeting a suitable suitor. My father ended up finding someone for me after quite a few years of searching. I'm young, but I'm tired of waiting. This is what I want."

"Well, I wish I could have met him to vet him, first," Navarion replied much to her amusement, "but I suppose that might not be possible. What's he like?"

"Like most of our men. He doesn't talk much, but he's strong and works in the ship building and repair industry. I guess you could say he's a stereotype."

"Sounds like your old man himself!"

"What? Oh, well, that's kind of weird but I guess so." She shared a laugh with him, reminding him of how at ease they always felt. There was a certain reserved dryness to her humor, a restraint that would be totally lacking in an Orc or dwarf female that belied her relatively young age - she couldn't be more than a year or so older than him and Anathil. She finished her drink before she continued. "After the wedding, we'll return here. I don't know if you've heard, but there are actually three more of us living in the lagoon - two sisters and the husband of one of them. The trade princess is impressed by our work at the shipyard and was actually asking how we could attract more of our kind here; it takes three or four dwarves, goblins or orcs to do the job that one of us do for the salary of only one and a half of them. We're actually hoping to start a new neighborhood of the city that's under the water; we have the support of the cartel so the whole situation is looking good."

"You know, I think I saw one of those ladies at the fish market the other day but I was too far to tell of it was your mom or someone new. And it would have felt weird to just squint and stare."

"Of course, it certainly would. Serra, she's the unmarried sister, she supplies one of the fishmongers - they're killing the competition, apparently."

"So what's next, then?" Navarion asked. "I'm assuming you guys plan on staying here, right?"

"After traveling, of course. We'll try to get time to ourselves for the first decade or so, but eventually the pressure for kids will come. It always does." Both happiness and wistfulness mixed into her expression; if there was one person he didn't need to listen to the spirits to understand, it was Nephentha.

The green of her scales was a nice bright color, and in a purely aesthetic sense, she was nice to look at. There was no physical or sexual attraction, however; not on either of their parts. Their anatomy was simply too different, not to mention the fact that they could never breed anyway. But when he leaned under the shade of the umbrella so that he could meet her eyes clearly at least once, there was a sadness they both shared regarding news which should have been the happiest of her life and made him happy for her. It was ironic, that the person outside the family who understood him best was female, but someone he could never, ever be with. All the years when he'd ran around with the wrong type of women, transgressed and been transgressed against, Nephentha had been there among their social circle, always knowing the right things to tell him on those few occasions when they did speak to each other freely. And that, more than anything, made Navarion understand Zorena's sentiment regarding his father a little bit better.

"You know that this means the end of our friendship," he sighed, looking at his childhood friend for what would be the last time.

"Yes, it's a part of our traditions; I won't be single anymore. My friends will be other women, my husband's friends will be other men, and that's just how it is." She smiled but the wry wit disappeared, and he could tell she was smiling because there was nothing else she could do but move forward.

He turned toward the ocean and tried to watch the waves for a moment despite the bright shimmer twinkling at him. "I'm really going to miss you, Nepha."

"Me too."

At first he tried to find the right words to tell a friend who he'd known all his life, no matter how poorly he'd been at keeping in touch, and would suddenly just not know anymore. To imagine that they wouldn't be able to laugh and talk freely whenever she visited his sisters seemed so foreign that he almost couldn't feel the full brunt of the loss; it felt like a dream. Eventually he relented, realizing that there really wasn't anything to be said, no magic words that would make things better when faced by the fact that he'd be losing a very dear friend irreversibly.

The two of them stared at the waves until their sadness waned, and he could have sworn he saw her surreptitiously wipe a finger beneath her eye.

"Were circumstances different...in another life, perhaps..."

"...then I would have snatched you up and electrocuted any of those other women who came near you," the naga sea witch laughed despite her own blue mood.

Unfairly brief but meaningful, their conversation had run its course and they both knew it. There wasn't much to do other than confirm to each other what they'd both suspected and then move on; to do otherwise would only drag out a painful parting. Neither of them wanted that.

She rose up on her coils, easily shifting out of the seat due to her nearly alien physiology. He followed suit, still able to stand taller than her. As he always did, he repressed most of his emotions and memories to lessen the sting, and settled once more for a highborne style bow.

"Goodbye, Navarion," she told him quietly, though with a measure of difficulty he could sense.

"Goodbye, Nepha."

Neither of them waited. He walked back up the patio and toward the street, and she slithered down the beach and toward the lagoon where the city's underwater residents made their home. Another piece of his past slipped away, reminding him that he wasn't a reckless youngblood anymore and that he'd have to find his own way in the world eventually.

"And Valmar was being serious when he told you this?" Navarion asked while stretching on his bunk in the crowded men's bedroom. His parents and Irien had their own bedrooms on the third floor; all the children and grandchildren ended up cramming themselves into four smaller bedrooms on the second floor.

Tiondel's bed was right next to his, and his youngest brother lied on his bed despite being clothed for work as well. "Serious as always. Apparently Mulgore has a serious problem ever since those Outland moths were imported and the tribal chieftains are literally paying people for how many you can put down. They're devouring entire mesa tops of maize at a time." A crumpled up flyer written in Common and Orcish with a tauren-style painting of a ravenous moth bore all the information about the agricultural threat.

"I know, it's good cover in a technical sense because it's real, but...seriously? Culling moths?" Navarion turned over to check the water clock they kept on the long dresser against the wall opposite the door. "And Shari already explained this to mom and dad?"

"Yeah, they took it well. In fact, I think the ridiculous nature of the quest is part of what made them so open to the idea; it's completely non threatening and doesn't freak them out. Seriously though, you need to get down there now and show face. Me and auntie will cover for you guys, but make sure you're ready to answer any questions." Tiondel promptly tossed the crumpled flyer to the oldest brother to read.

Getting out of bed with a great sigh, Navarion fumbled with the flyer before smoothing it out and looking it over. "There's not that much to remember. Moths devour corn, we cull moths. I just hope I don't burst out laughing if they ask me about it." Tossing the flyer aside, he exited the room and went downstairs, heading for the living room toward the front of the house where most of the family was sitting.

Ever the center of the family, his mother sat in a rocking chair of branches that had been naturally grown by Druidic magic over time; thin, tiny branches and roots formed a sort of mesh for the seat and leaves even sprouted out of a few places as if to complete the quite literally homegrown piece of furniture. Her ancient, faced eyes retained little of the glow typical their people but there was a shine to it nonetheless as she watched Hyptu, the second youngest of her grandchildren trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle. Sporting hair the same pale jade color as Venjai, the seven year old boy was quieter and more focused than his older brother, who was probably off being watched by Irien as he smoothed manure and compost onto the enormous herb garden the family maintained out back. Anathil and Tan'jin sat on a couch nearby, clutching papers and discussing the family business or something along that order.

Cecilia looked up to Navarion as he walked in. "Come have a seat; I want to make sure I see you off properly before your next dangerous adventure," she joked while motioning for him to take the chair next to her. Her smile lit up the room, and despite being millennia old she still looked slightly younger than their father.

Settling in next to her, he watched his nephew finish the jigsaw puzzle in record time and start in a second one. "Oh, I'm real worried about this one, mom. We might want to contact the cartel about a life insurance policy." She laughed despite her oldest son joking about being murdered by moths, and her own sense of confront was infectious despite the fact that he was technically lying to her about his destination. "Do Zengu and Thandra plan on bringing the twins by any time soon?"

"Soon in general, but not definite dates. They wanted to have come already, but the semester for the twins got extended due to too many days off, what with mishaps after last Winter Veil and all. Issinia and Narrus have talked about coming home early, but apparently the mission has competition from Light worshippers."

"Competition? Why do missionaries need to compete? They're teaching poor people how to properly irrigate their land," he grumbled in mild shock."

"Well, I'm not sure how seriously to take Issa's version of events. She claims that Stormwind is funding missions for the Holy Light and demanding conversion to their religion in exchange for fertilizer, a trick the Temple of Elune would never do." Cecilia smiled again as if the middle daughter were still the self righteous conservative teenager she once was. "I'm not entirely sure if that's the case or of Issa just dislikes seeing pandaren convert to the Light instead of the Balance."

"That sounds like her. I think her conspiracy theories make her feel more comfortable than admitting that the world is entropic and nobody controls anything."

"Your sister is...very dedicated to the Goddess," his mother stated, always seeing nothing but good in her children. Strangely, he felt no guilt for taking advantage of that like he did other times; in this instance, it felt necessary until he could sort out the mess that was his personal life. As if she noticed him deep in thought, Cecilia took Navarion's hand and peered at him in bemused suspicion. "You're zoning out. That's like Zengu, but not you."

Exposed if only for half a second, he tried to brush it off. "I've just been doing a lot of flying lately. To Stonetalon and now Mulgore," he replied, masking his discomfort the best he could. "I think I need a long vacation after this next quest."

"Good! It would be nice to have you for more than a month before seeing you and Shari riding off on raptors or wyverns again. This house is never too crowded."

Hyptu finished the second jigsaw puzzle just as Cecilia finished her sentence and laid a sheet of tracing paper over it, tracing the lines without the image of a Zul'Gurub step pyramid beneath it. The family marveled at how busy the child kept himself for a few minutes, talking about Belinia and Gelinia, the twin daughters of Zengu and his wife Thandra as well as Issinia's daughter Ireth for a few more minutes. There was precious little time for Navarion to spend with his mother before Sharimara knocked on the wall from the hallway and stepped inside.

"The flight master is ready for us," she announced to everyone in the room. "We have a direct flight there, so it's going to be a long night and following day for us." She walked inside to hug their mother before she had a chance to stand up from her rocking chair despite the fact that Cecilia was still perfectly capable and mobile on her own.

"Alright dear, you two take care with those rabid moths now," their mother chuckled while rising for Sharimara to kiss her on the forehead.

"Don't worry mom, we will," Sharimara laughed while releasing her to Navarion and shaking Hyptu off of her leg.

The boy's parents had already wandered over. "We want you both back in one piece!" Anathil added while giving both the departing siblings a big hug.

Tan'jin, himself the son of a dark troll mother and night elf father, sufficed with a Kaldorei bow instead. "Elune be with you both. Once you return, we'll have to chain you both up here in the house just to make sure we get to see you for a decent length of time!"

"Don't worry, we're staying home for a while after this," Navarion said while giving his mother one last hug.

There was no sadness, but a sort of seriousness as she finally let him go. "You bet you are!"

After a few more farewells - to everyone except Irien, Tiondel and Venjai - the two siblings sharing a secret managed to work their way to the shoe rack in the anteroom. Sharimara grabbed Navarion's shoulder before they exited.

"Dad's waiting for you on the porch," she whispered. "He knows something is up, so be careful."

Nodding and walking outside as nonchalantly as he could, Navarion found Khujand leaning over the railing of the porch and watching the stars shine down on a fountain the family had recently had grown thanks to Tan'jin. His dad didn't turn to face him, but the pause in chewing on the half mouthful of cloves signaled that he noticed his oldest son walking by.

"I figure ya and Shari already finished all tha goodbyes," Khujand said plainly after spitting out a bit of chewed up clove.

"Except to you, dad. It's going to be a short trip, though - you'll see." Always sort of awkward around his father, he stood close by and waited for the smothering hug - he always felt weird being the one to initiate it with Khujand. When his father didn't, he knew something was up. "We're staying for a while once we get back, don't worry. No more questing for me or Shari for a good amount of time," he tried to reassure the older shadow hunter.

Not fooled but not totally clued in, Khujand turned to face him. "Make sure that ya're here both physically and mentally, and emotionally, son," the old jungle troll told him softly. "Whatever problems ya might be worryin' about, we're gonna face them tagether; that's what family does."

Although he knew his father meant nothing in particular by the words aside from what he said, it hit Navarion in his core hard to hear that. "I know, dad. Always." After a brief and awkward hug, Sharimara joined them for a short goodbye before they collected their belongings and left. Khujand watched them until they were out the gates of the modest estate, causing Navarion to wonder just how much his father knew.

There was no time for dwelling on what he couldn't fathom. Valmar was waiting for them at the flight point; rather than one direct flight to Mulgore, the group would have a rather arduous journey of multiple stops ahead of them. At least the constant changes would be enough to prevent his creeping worry over how his long lost daughter would react to him from eating away at his soul. He hoped.


	9. Living with Ghosts

The journey to reach the Port of Winterspring was long, slow and a test of patience. Many times, Navarion had undertaken such journeys that required transit and multiple stops. During his early days working on Steamwheedle cargo ships, he'd grown used to random delays and long periods of monotony. When he worked with the Argent Crusade, ground travel that often ended up in dead ends and obligatory backtracking built up his resolve. As a wandering soldier of fortune, he'd practically lived on the back of nearly a dozen different species of mounts both flying and land based. He was no stranger to travel.

But this, he had to admit, was a whole different thing. Ratchet and the Port of Winterspring were both busy port cities that experienced a high volume of mercantile traffic. The Sentinels had good relations with the Steamwheedle Cartel, and trade certainly did exist. Numerous voyages by ship ran in between the two cities daily, both by regular transport ships as well as cargo ships that were willing to take on guests for a price.

There were no direct flights, however, and given the vast difference in time between flying and sailing, they'd chosen to go the fast but indirect route. There simply wasn't any way to fly from Ratchet to the Port of Winterspring; the distance was too long. Instead, Valmar had mapped out the quickest airborne route possible at no small sum, taking them on a winding path across northern Kalimdor that left the group tired and beaten.

From the flight point at Ratchet, they took wyverns all the way across Durotar, stopping briefly in Sen'jin City and Razor Hill before landing in Orgrimmar. Once at the capital of the Horde, they had a stark choice: either rush directly from the flight point at the front of the city to the zeppelin depot with only half an hour to spare without a chance to rest of breathe, or wait another day for the next zeppelin to Winterspring to arrive. Not to the port, the diminutive zeppelin mistress was careful to point out; just to the region. Ultimately, they'd chosen to skip resting and jump on the first available zeppelin, which flew to the Steamwheedle city of Everlook but not directly to the port; as a Kaldorei city, the port had no trams, zeppelins or steam based ships. From Everlook, they would need to disembark the floating ship of the sky and rent hippogriffs to fly the old fashioned way to the Port of Winterspring. By that time, they would at least have a chance to rest up in the goblin city for a period but until then, they found themselves running with all their travel bags and jumping immediately into the zeppelin and jostling for the first come, first serve rooms with no time to acclimate or get used to the motion at all. A zeppelin flew much differently than a ridden flying mount, and the motion often caused a sky sickness similar to the seasickness some people experienced on boats.

On that particular day, however, it wasn't the motion of the vessel which caused Navarion to feel ill. Nor was it the small amount of light filtering through the window of their private cabin despite the curtain they'd carefully used to cover the glass. Nor was it the cramped nature of the goblin-designed cabin for people their size. Nor the fact that Sharimara tended to snore even worse than Anathil, nor the fact that he didn't know what part of the vessel Valmar had wandered off to, nor the poor air circulation, food quality or cleanliness of the zeppelin's toilets. All of those elements could easily be ignored in any other case.

What bothered him was something else; something deeper.

For a good amount of time, he had been able to sleep. Although zeppelins were comfortable, they weren't particularly fast and there was nothing he would miss by a few extra hours sleep during the two day nonstop flight. Since there were only two of them in the room, he'd had plenty of room to toss and turn. Images of a gaseous grey material flowing over an emptiness taunted him like in other visions, filling his head with memories of ex girlfriends and fallen comrades past. Different regions and even continents melded into one another in a bizarre, spentirely surreal way as he watched a play without a script take place before him. The gas swept everything away until dissipating on its own, leaving him in a sort of quasi-lucid state of nothingness.

It was a strange concept, nothing. There weren't even the occasional swirls of darkness - not blackness, but total absence of color - that occasionally punctuated his weird dreams. There was no sense of time or space, yet he was thinking, so it must have been real on some level. Only something could give a reference point in the nothing, and until then a second was the same as an hour.

Very faint, a pair of stars blinked into and out of existence. Far off but discernible, they looked around until they found him, staring blankly. There wasn't enough context for him to read what they wanted other than to look at him; for what reason, he did not know. The stars shone bright and powerfully, approaching him gradually wherever he happened to be in the nothingness. A tiny little drumbeat rang out, not too fast and not too slow as he and the stars inspected each other. It was so small yet so inquisitive, trying to discern something but he did not know what. Little hands reached out to be taken in his, not quite long enough to reach him yet not losing hope.

For the first time in a very long time, he felt something deeply. Condensation collected on that freezer burned chest cavity of his until it began to shift in place, filling with water in place of the ice. A smile formed inside the nothingness, never fading even as he felt himself doing so. Little hands fell at ease, ready to wait until he came back. The emotion was too intense and he woke up, gazing at his sister's slumbering form with salty eyes. Once the blur washed away, he could tell it was still daytime but early evening; soon enough, she'd be awake and stretching out way too much for the size of the small cabin, and possibly complaining about the quality of the hard rations the zeppelin's crew had brought along to sell at a high markup. After a few minutes of slowly getting up and rubbing his eyes, he straightened out his clothes and walked into the hall, leaving her to wake on her own.

The quarters were cramped. In order to remain afloat, the zeppelin couldn't be too large and always the shrewd merchants, the cartel engineers who had designed the vessel had obviously wanted to maximize their amount of space for paying customers. There was a large common area below decks featuring hammocks and sleeping bags for those who hadn't been able to jostle for a private cabin successfully, and trips such as these were invariably crowded. Desiring fresh air, Navarion squeezed beside the other, smaller passengers until he could make it to the staircase that led to the upper deck. Since it was evening time and most of the other passengers were diurnal, there was a large amount of people going below decks to sleep for the night. Ample space was left on the deck below the inflated balloon keeping the vessel afloat, and a grand view of the landscape was possible in the rapidly growing darkness outside.

From what Navarion could tell, they were just at the triple border of Azshara, Ashenvale and Winterspring, all now considered the territory of the Sentinels save a few legal Horde outposts on the southern Azsharan peninsula. If there was ever any doubt that leaving the Alliance so many years ago had been a good thing for the night elves, the sight of the renewed and rejuvenated Azsharan forests would dispel it. When he was a child, his mother and godmother told stories of a once pristine millennia old forest spoilt by industrialization. Within the first few months of becoming an independent faction again like they'd been for ten thousand years before, the night elves had aggressively negotiated for the total retraction of remaining Horde outposts in Ashenvale, Felwood and northern Azshara as well as concessions in Stonetalon and Feralas. Although it was only half his heritage, and the other half was considered a part of the Horde even if his father wasn't anymore, the half Darkspear, half Kaldorei's heart swelled with pride to see the smooth, almost unnoticeable transition from far eastern Nightsong Forest to the western edge of Azshara without any discoloration or deforestation.

After most everyone else had cleared out, leaving a number of empty benches that were bolted down to the deck for safety, he noticed a Kobe figure leaning over the starboard railing and watching the marshy delta that marked the convergence of Azshara and Winterspring. A cape woven from mageweave cloth flapped in the light wind, matching the suede gloves and boots perfectly along with the rather regal looking outfit. In theory it could have been any upper class human or, given the height, perhaps half-Orc who had decided to ride the vessel to avoid strenuous mount riding, but the tin mask gave it away as his family's ever present undead friend.

Joining him to lean over the rail and watch the crockolisks hunt in the delta below, Navarion relaxed a bit knowing it was just him, a mentor and family friend and the stars to admire the view.

"Can't sleep?" he asked the deadman absentmindedly, forgetting who he was talking to.

"Yes, but that's part of my physiology," Valmar answered honestly, as if the shadow hunter truly didn't know.

"You...what? Oh, right." Navarion felt a bit silly for his question. He never had long discussions with the Forsaken the way Irien or Tiondel did. His godmother had helped found the Ratchet Literary Club with him, and Tiondel learned to swing a weapon as well as to write and perform research from Valmar; Navarion himself had always viewed him as an oddity among the other oddities of his family's large, diverse social circle. For the first time, they were actually alone and after four decades of growing up around the deadman, the shadow hunter realized how little he knew about him. "Valmar, don't you ever need to rest?" he asked.

Still gazing over the delta, the Forsaken didn't look up but was completely alert when he answered. "No. I have no blood nor regular bodily functions. If I am hurt, I require a visit to the necromancer back in Ratchet or your father to heal, though I believe you and Anathil could do the same. Otherwise, my muscles have no lactic acid to build up, so I don't experience fatigue."

"So are you immortal, then?"

Even through the tin mask, Navarion could tell that it wasn't the dead man's favorite topic. His shoulders didn't slump nor did his posture change, but Valmar was an easy person to read and tended to wear his proverbial heart on his sleeve. "Most, if not all, of the people of my faction are. Unless we go hollow, which our apothecaries are beginning to understand and combat, we don't expect to die any more than we expect to truly live. The undead are in between." When he noticed the puzzled look on the shadow hunter's face, Valmar finally did turn to face him. "Didn't your mother ever discuss immortality with you? It is not a desirable state to be in, despite what some may think."

"Yes, she's told us that before, maybe a few times. But I don't think she likes to talk about it; she never really goes into detail."

"No, I'd imagine not," Valmar replied before turning back to the view of the landscape below. "Death adds value to life. A lack of death means one must either feel nothing - which is the same as being hollow - or learn to take solace in others, and building relationships such that one can do a little good in the world."

Those words - that to feel nothing at all meant to be hollow - hit Navarion exceptionally hard. A sudden sense of stupidity set in as he wondered how he'd lost eight years of his life so quickly by shutting off all his emotions. True, he'd insulated himself from a great deal of hurt over what had occurred during the anti-silithid campaign so many years ago, but the cost now appeared to him clearly. For those eight years he'd been hollow; he had nothing to show for his life and would have a hard time describing to someone what he'd been spending his time doing one, two, three or however many years ago. Existing but not living.

Humbled and reflective, he ruminated on the second part of Valmar's answer. "You know, I can never thank you enough for the support you provided for my...daughter. You were under no compulsion and did it anyway. She's had a good education so far because of you. And I find myself here, not even entirely comprehending the fact that I'm a...father, and how I hadn't been there for her, but someone had been helping regardless. Thank you, so much."

"I appreciate the thanks, but charity requires no thanks. I've never met Zelda or Astariel - or even Zorena, for that matter - but knowing that I helped meant a lot as well, at least to me."

Experiencing a range of emotions he hadn't for a very long time, Navarion's thoughts raced. From topic to topic, he kept reacting internally as his mind flashed images at him if dozens of past experiences left without definitive closure. A star, this time gold instead of silver, blinked at him in his conscious mind and questions he had been too afraid to answer floated in front of him, forcing him, compelling him to face his fears.

"Valmar...how did you know Zhenya?"

While he did try to act as if it were a natural question, Navarion heard the brief flash of softness in his voice toward the end of the sentence. For a very long time, he'd left her memory dead and buried and promptly suppressed any pain he may have felt in order to move on in his own insecure, self denying sort of way. The memory of the draenei paladin who had captured his heart only to toy with it and trample on it and then apologize time after time had remained in his head, but toward the back, beneath a great deal of other issues he had not yet dealt with. She had been with him when he'd first met Astariel, and trying to hold together his dysfunctional relationship with Zhenya had been the reason why he hadn't been able to accept the idea of becoming more than friends with the night elf archer turned cook. The fateful night in which Zelda had apparently been conceived occurred just after Zhenya's death, and Navarion's inability to cope with the paladin's loss was the major factor behind him and Astariel parting ways.

Zhenya was gone, but would always be a part of him, like the other women he'd lost. If only he could let him self feel.

If Valmar had noticed the hint of soft pain in Navarion's voice, he didn't let on about it. Continuing to stare over the railing, he made no acknowledgement of the touchiness of the topic and proceeded to answer normally. "On Draenor, shortly before I bumped into Khujand again and met Cecilia for the first time. My people were a part of the Horde back then, but the factions were cooperating for political reasons and I bumped into Zhenya while questing. Both of our respective parties had been killed and we ended up fighting through waves of the common enemy until we were back to back to each other in a crowd, and fought them all off." He paused, and hummed to himself happily while lost in thought. "Factional boundaries drop real fast when you're both knee deep in the dead."

"It's strange for me to imagine Zhenya doing things like that before I was even born...I always just thought of her as...my partner." For the first time in eight years, he was talking about it openly. It hurt a lot less than he had feared it would, but a sense of silliness actually overtook him as he realized it had taken him eight years just to say her name out loud.

"I could well ask you how you knew her as well," Valmar pointed out dryly.

"I don't mind, actually. To be honest, I never thought I'd meet somebody who also knew her; I had no idea Brigadier General Lamia had even tried to contact anybody." Searching through his mind to answer the question, Navarion drew up a blank. "I don't think I can remember now, actually. We were both mercenaries when the Sentinels began their heritage preservation projects, and met while on protection quests in remote areas. I couldn't even tell you where or when, exactly. I mainly remember the relationship itself."

For a few moments, Navarion peered over the railing again as well, watching the moon as it rose even higher into the night sky. When the wind ran through his mane just right, it almost felt like the tips of a woman's fingers. Whether it was the specific touch of Zhenya or not, he didn't know, but it felt soothing nonetheless. For so long he had tried to forget about her in addition to Astariel, and looking out over the landscape of southern Winterspring he could not feel more foolish. To cut out someone who had made such a significant impact on his life felt selfish and idiotic. He owed her his prayers and at least a fond thought every now and then. If anything, remembering might help him to relax about it a little bit.

When he shifted his weight, he noticed Valmar looking at him curiously. "I don't think Zhenya was the first woman you've lost in your travels," the deadman stated knowingly.

Navarion's eyes widened before he snorted a laugh, more at himself than anything. "You can really tell?"

"Let's just say that Forsaken are well acquainted with loss. I can tell, yes."

Were it any other person, the shadow hunter would have already told them to go to hell and mind their own business. In this case, however, it was a friend of his parents who demanded respect. It was also a friend of theirs who likely wouldn't run and tell them everything he said, which immediately made Navarion feel more comfortable. He had no reason to react in hostility.

"Madrieda was the other one I've lost. That was decades ago. She didn't pass away until an actual decade from when we'd parted ways, amicably, and I heard the news from other people. I'd had time to move on like she wanted, but it still hurt. A lot. I keep this," he mentioned while pulling from under his shirt sleeve the rather feminine looking bracelet the ancient night elf sentinel - one of his mother's former shield sisters - had bequeathed to him when they parted ways. "On some nights, I touch it and I remember her, when I watch the stars."

"And the other one?" Valmar asked while pointing to the second bracelet. "Is that one from Zhenya?"

"Yes...it is. I keep them both right here, but I've had difficulty remembering Zhenya. It stings a little more."

"And yet you're talking about her right now. And you look fine while you're doing so; sometimes, talking about it can help quite a bit," Valmar told him, almost channeling his mother at that point. "Zhenya could be difficult at times and she enjoyed pushing people's buttons, but her race suffered devastation comparable to what your mother has witnessed in a much shorter amount of time. She coped by wearing a tough outer shell, but she had a good heart. You and I are the only people in existence who remember her, and you much more than I. It would be more befitting that you keep her memory alive the way you do the memory of this Madrieda you speak of."

"I know, but...I find it hard to reconcile. That I was even able to be with somebody again...I don't know how. I received word of Madrieda's passing just before I left home a decade ago for the preservation efforts. Zhenya was..." Navarion's voice trailed off as a minor epiphany about his mindset ten years ago began to settle in. "Zhenya was the first and only woman I've had a real relationship since I heard the news that Madrieda had finally passed away."

"How old were you when you and Madrieda were together?" Valmar asked directly, as if he were some sort of psychologist.

Almost shrinking in embarrassment at how obvious it all should have been to him, Navarion hesitated before answering. "I was...eighteen years old. I'd had girlfriends, but Madrieda was a real woman, and the first time...that I think I loved someone." Shaking his head, he faltered and tried to intellectualize what he had felt. "Bah. I was a kid. I didn't know what love meant. But I guess it did leave a lasting impression on my heart. So much so that when I heard of her passing, I traveled a long way just to visit her grave alone. And a few months later, I guess it was, I met Zhenya, and I hadn't planned on being with anybody again. So just after finding out that the woman who I'd had my first adult relationship with had died, I find myself with another woman who died." Even as the pain bit into him, Navarion ignored it, speaking freely and managing to keep his breathing and tone of voice in check.

Continuing to watch the landscape change from the marshy delta to the high mountains as the zeppelin switched its thrust from forward to upward in order to ascend the rise of elevation to Winterspring, Valmar gave Navarion a somewhat larger epiphany.

"You weren't the only one who had lost a life partner previously. Zhenya knew exactly how you feel now."

It took a few seconds for the dead man's statement to register. "Uh...wait. Zhenya told you she lost people she'd been in relationships before?" the shadow hunter asked in shock.

"A bit. While we were on Draenor, she'd drink after we had been on quests and when she drank, she talked. I heard small anecdotes here and there. Zhenya was a soldier first and foremost; it was what she was born for. It was her life. And the men she mentioned when drinking herself into oblivion and forcing me to carry her back to her inn room on some nights, all of them were ones she'd met on jobs. Like you."

"I see," Navarion grumbled. Despite her having been gone for so long, he couldn't help but feel a bit of jealousy at the mention of her relationships before him. Probably his half troll genes, he thought to himself.

"Give her age, she'd lost more than one. She didn't give many details, but I'm sure it affected her. She dealt with her pain through alcoholism, but I always sensed that she wished she could have found another way." The Forsaken turned to Navarion and flashed him a look of almost parental concern through the eyeholes of his tin mask. "I know she would have wanted better for you than she had for herself."

In more ways that one, Valmar's last statement hit the half elf, half troll hard. "She was an amazing person...but I need to want that for myself first. Especially if I'm going to try to be a father now." Navarion rubbed the back of his neck, finding all the thoughts and feelings a bit overwhelming. "I'm actually glad I wandered up here and we had this little chat. I may not have considered a lot of this otherwise."

"I think you've just provided for yourself what takes many people years of therapy to achieve," Valmar chuckled.

"I don't necessarily feel changed...but it feels nicer than I thought. To say all of this stuff out loud, I mean." The shadow hunter smiled in self deprecating humor. "I'm already in your debt for so much."

"I don't keep a tab running on those whose presence enriches my life. Don't even worry about any of it."

Heavy, non stealthy footsteps wandered over to them on the deck of the zeppelin. The silver shine of Sharimara's eyes provided a measure of ethereal light like the stars, but her shiver signaled her discomfort. "It's already getting cold and we didn't scale the mountains yet," she grumbled while pulling a blanket from their cabin around herself. "Come on, most of the other passengers are asleep. This would be a great time to hit the canteen and get some breakfast."

"It is a bit cold up here. We'll need to unpack our winter clothes before coming to the upper deck again." At the growl of his stomach, Navarion began to follow his sister to the staircase leading back below deck. He still carried a great deal of pain, but at least he had started admitting to himself that it was real.

Sharimara stopped to watch Valmar. The undead didn't need to eat or drink, and he remained glued in his spot as he watched the zeppelin clear the steep plateau marking the beginning of Winterspring. "Valmar, would you like to come below with us? At least to have a seat next to us?" she asked.

Although the deadman continued watching the elevated landscape over the railing, his head and neck shifted as if he were smiling. "Give me a few minutes and I'll be after you. I haven't quite finished enjoying the view."

At that, both sister and brother began descending the staircase. "We'll be waiting for you. We have plenty of time before reaching Everlook, and then, the port," Sharimara said while going down. Navarion said nothing, working to move out of the mindset of lamenting over who he'd lost. He had begun dealing with his feelings on his own, but he still didn't feel ready to express them to his sister yet. He had a long way to go yet mere days, if all went well, before he had to stabilize and face the music with his long lost daughter and her mother.


	10. Haunting the Phantom

The wind whipped roughly in Navarion's face, stinging his nose despite the scarf he'd wrapped around his face. "I think I see the bay now!" he tried to shout to Sharimara and Valmar through his scarf and across the wind.

Both of them twisted on their respected hippogriffs as the three soared over open water, but only his sister verbally indicated the communication problem. "What?" she shouted across the cold air. Of course, it wasn't as cold near the ocean as it had been far inland near Everlook, but it was definitely still quite cold.

"I said I see the bay now!"

"What?"

"The bay! The bay of the Port of Winterspring!"

Finally hearing him properly, Sharimara and Valmar both craned their necks to see. She'd insisted that from inland Winterspring, they cross over the open ocean and loop around to fly back west in order to get a good view of the bay itself. Unlike most night elven cities which featured only stone walls and tree and plant based buildings, the Port of Wintersprinf had more highborne features to the architecture. Grown out of the living rock of the steep mountains at the eastern coast, officials from the Temple of Elune had shaped and fashioned the walls of the natural bay into a multi-tiered half circle where plazas and wide roads ringed the deepwater bay that the city ringed.

It might be a one in a lifetime chance since they could end up traveling on the ground or just flying quickly and directly west-east from Everlook the next time they went to the city, and Sharimara had insisted that they get a good look at the grand view. But damned if the wind chill wasn't biting and uncomfortable.

"There's a Steamwheedle ship below!" she shouted through her own scarf, adjusting her goggles to point more accurately at a cargo ship sailing beneat their hippogriffs.

"This place is booming!" Navarion shouted back while indicating the huge number of merchant vessels and the handful of Sentinel naval vessels sailing just outside of the bay.

Though never one to shout, Valmar did raised his voice so the siblings could hear him. "I see at least two flight point to already; look at the top hippogriff roosts on the two opposite cliffs marking the entrance to the bay!" the deadman said loudly while pointing to the top ridge that mostly enclosed the port city.

Sure enough, the twin peninsulas that enclosed the naturally fortified Port of Winterspring were topped by a watchtower, chimaera roost and hippogriff roost on each side. The peninsulas - Navarion wouldn't know how else to describe them - consisted of steep, narrow cliff faces rising about seven stories high, concealing most of the port city from view from their vantage point over the open ocean. All up and down the dual cliff faces were stations for ballistae and glaive launchers, giving the impression of a very martial city even by Kaldorei standards. The very bottom features the naval yard for the Sentinel military branch of government, but no commercial docks; those were all inside the high, steep and deep cove that formed the city proper.

"The sentinels on duty are waiving us down on the left side," Navarion yelled to his two travel companions, motioning toward a handful of armed servicewomen signaling with colored flags for them to land their mounts; a registration booth of Kaldorei style wooden architecture somehow grown out of the rocky peninsula stood next to the signaling sentinels. "We're clear to finally touch ground."

"Finally, my back is killing me!" Sharimara laughed loudly as they all began to lower their mounts' speed.

"Easy, there," Valmar cautioned her as they rapidly approached the top of the left side cliff. "We still have a lot of walking to do by the looks of it."

As they rose high into the sky to land at the roost atop the cliffs, they were able to spy the grand Port of Winterspring in all its splendor. While the outside of the cliff faces were adorned with military installations, the circular inside formed a sort of cove. Tall, steep and only slightly inclining, the high cliffs that formed the circular cove were dotted by six levels of structures forming the city. Perhaps half a mile wide, the cove was dotted by numerous trade ships from every nation of the world in addition to a handful of ships for the Senitnel Navy as they patrolled for possible incidents on the water. The very bottom ring of the city was formed by nothing but docks, shipping companies, warehouses and rather demure looking motels catering toward the sailors. Most night elf ports enforced prohibition on alcohol and opium, leaving the sailors with rather quiet, toned down evenings while staying in such places; at such a busy city there certainly were establishments offering such things, but it would have to be at places frequented only by outlanders and kept low key. Steps naturally raised out of the cliff face led to the next five levels, each one formed by wide, flat, tiled streets and numerous shops and houses built directly into the rock of the sheer cliff face in a way similar to dwarven cities, except open to the air rather than underground. The lamppost, benches and signposts were mostly made from naturally grown trees sprouted for those purposes, but for the most part the Port of Winterspring was a grand highborne-style city of six rings and cliff dwellings.

Ironically, societal intolerance toward practitioners of the arcane had flared up again among the night elves as it did every few years, but that didn't prevent people from enjoying the splendor that was the city inside a cove. The rings formed by the six streets winding against the cliff face were abuzz with traffic one would expect from an international city. The stone grey of the city and its architecture mixed rather well with the pale purples and blues of night elven skin and hair tones such that the scattered denizens with green hair stood out like vibrant sprouts in a dirt patch. Mixed in on the lower level rings around the cove were the fel green and dark green specs represented by Orcish and goblin merchants respectively, and the humans were marked by smatterings of pink, brown or beige. Handfuls of mounts could be see here and there, but all of them walking; the Sentinel Air Force quickly ordered anyone flying below the tops of the cliffs where the flight points were found to land for safety reasons. Though definitely subdued by the standards of other races, the Port of Winterspring was an amazing, diverse, loud and bustling city by elven standards. Even after the group landed, Sharimara couldn't help but gape in awe.

Leaving Navarion to trail behind her while Valmar checked in the hippogriffs and registered the three of them as visitors on behalf of the Steamwheedle Cartel, Sharimara rushed to the naturally grown railing at the top of the cliffs where she could look down at the multi-tiered city below.

"Oh, look! Look! Not even Darnassus is like this! The design, the crowds from everywhere...it's amazing!" Her chest swelled with pride as she watched a few other wardens perched above the tiers and watching the crowds below them. "I would never have thought the Kaldorei could build cities like this. How can the Alliance call the Sentinels backward?" she gasped again in regard to the well known acrimony over the night elves separating from Stormwind to become their own faction again years back.

Standing next to her, Navarion watched the breathtaking scene as well. A few sentinels posted nearby noticed the mixed race siblings marveling at their city and actually giggled while whispering to each other, a rare show of amusement that could have gotten them reprimanded were the flight mistress not preoccupied with Valmar.

"This place is huge...I have a feeling it will take us some time to find the answers we need," he murmured. "But...in a place like this, spending a little extra time isn't a problem."

"This is a perfect place to raise a child, actually," his sister beamed, ignoring the fact that discussing the matter out loud was still a sensitive topic for him.

"Yeah...I suppose it is."

"In a way, I'm glad. This is quite far away, but it's a much better environment than Gadgetzan. At least we know they're both living well materially." She continued to gaze down at the city in a cove below until their undead travel companion finally finished their registration and wandered up next to them.

"We're good to go and have permission to stay anywhere we want; security is high because the Sentinels consider the mercantile trade a top priority for safety." Pointing his gloved finger toward the fourth tier from the bottom, Valmar drew their attention to a number of dwellings which had doors carved into the cliff face at street level followed by window openings several stories up but stopping well before the column of windows reached the street of the next level of the city. "That's the tourist district. Hotels for anybody other than sailors are over there. We need to descend at the stairs over here, walk all the way toward that series of ramps on the far south side, and descend two levels to get near there."

Taking one last look of the magnificent view from atop the cliffs, Sharimara shouldered her travel bag again and walked sideways toward the aforementioned stairs. "We can plan on what we're actually going to do when we find Astariel on the way," she mumbled, still only half paying attention.

"No way!" Navarion protested strongly as they walked down the stairs. "This is a trade port; everybody speaks Common. We don't know what kind of people are around, and we don't need anybody listening in to a conversation about our personal matters. Let's just wait until we arrive at a suitable hotel to plan things out."

"What - you're seriously paranoid that a stranger will listen to us talk about our plans to meet a member of our family? A third of the people here are probably talking a out personal stuff like that right now." Sharimara seemed legitimately surprised by Navarion's reaction, but he held his ground.

"Shari, please; not here." He waved his hand at her in a way that would have caused a fistfight were they both fifteen years younger, but she settled instead to seethe at him for a few minutes - due to the hand wave, not his refusal to discuss the matter in public - before warming up to him again.

None of the three quite knew where they were going. The Port of Winterspring was not like anything they had ever seen; cities were either a series of buildings organized into streets or, in the case of other Kaldorei settlements, a series of hollowed out trees organized into streets. Dwarven cities were underground but most of them still had streets and buildings in addition to rooms carved into the rock. But the series of rings lying against the wide, circular cove overlooking the bay outside formed something not even Sharimara had read about in her collection of fantasy novels that Navarion ridiculed her for so much.

In a daze, the three of them wandered the rings as they tried to descend to the correct level. The positioning of the ramps leading down to each level followed a sort of patterned design that likely bore a cultural significance for people raised directly in night elven lands, but neither siblings was able to recognize it. The entire trip was spent asking for directions and pointing to what looked like entrances to ramps through the crowd while discussing which direction they should take next. No time was left for any sort of discussion of their plan, and by the time they managed to find their way to the tourist district the feet and legs of the siblings were quite tired after all the flying halfway across the region and then all the walking. Being undead, Valmar never experienced fatigue but he sympathized and did his best to rush in and out of hotels looking for adequate space and amenities while the brother and sister duo waited with the bags on a stone bench overlooking the cove far below. Eventually, they found a relatively cozy inn that had few visitors and were able to check in, noticing that the lobby had a runt nightsabre the size of a pony sleeping by a hearth of Druidic faerie fire but no other guests hanging about. Without question, Navarion and Sharimara followed Valmar inside and up the stairs into the inn carved into a cliff face to finally find a hotel shaped for people as tall as them and collapsed.

Fortunately, there were two beds inside (Valmar rarely sat unless he was writing; the undead never grew tired of standing) in addition to a private bath and shower and a corner where they could dump their bags. The walls were stone but flawlessly flattened and carved in the highborne style, and as the two mortal siblings battled sleep, they managed to at least sit up and form some semblance of a plan with their Forsaken traveling companion.

"So is his highness ready to discuss the plan now that he's hidden away from the big bad eavesdroppers?" Sharimara taunted her brother from her bed.

He rolled over to look at her and considered responding, but decided against it when Valmar stood at the ready, obviously expecting a discussion. The deadman had been a part of the social circle that raised the Hearthglen children and he felt awkward arguing in front of someone who was, technically, an authority figure. "I'm a bit worried about searching for them on my own. I'm sure Astra will recognize me if she sees me, and if I ask around and find people who know her, they might describe me to her. I'm still not sure how she'll react to seeing me, but I don't think it will be good."

Sharimara gave him a puzzled expression. "Look, I know you're kind of a horse's behind and used to treat women like dirt, but how badly did you scar this poor woman? Is she really going to freak the moment she sees you?" his sister asked, almost legitimately worried.

Memories of the hurt he'd seen on Astariel's face the moment they'd parted ways flashed before him at the thought, and Navarion strained to blink them away. "She isn't going to be happy if she thinks it's just me trying to find her. Let's leave it at that." Although Sharimara obviously wanted to push further, she relented and left him to dull briefly on his bed.

"It will be easiest if I'm the one to establish first contact," Valmar suggested while breaking the awkward silence between the siblings. "She won't recognize me at all, nor will her friends. And when she comes to know who it is, I doubt she'll flee or refuse to speak to me; she's aware of the fact that I've been supporting Zelda's education all these years. That's all we need; for her to at least listen to what we have to say."

"Are you sure Astra knows it was you donating money for my niece?" Sharimara asked. Navarion raised an eyebrow in surprise not just at the term his sister used, but also the fact that she didn't even seem to realize she had said it that way.

"One hundred percent sure. From what little Zorena ever told me in the few letters she wrote, Astariel knows who I am. I am not sure how much Zorena told her or if she knows my connection to your family, but I know that she's aware of who I am."

Navarion shifted, trying hard to push his guilt over having left Astariel aside in order to form a coherent plan for what they would even do now that they had arrived. "That sounds like a good idea, then. I can't get near anybody who knows her personally, but I can ask around regarding the former management and staff from Topaz, back in Gadgetzan; as far as anybody I speak to knows, I'm just s fan of the place and want to try their style of food again."

"Right," the deadman confirmed.

"Shari, you're obviously mixed and look related to me, but you can be discreet when simply asking around about where restaurant workers might live; right?"

For a second, an air of haughtiness swirled around the youngest Hearthglen sister. Sharimara looked toward the ceiling as if she weren't quite addressing them as she practically shouted slogans. "A warden watched and waits; discretion is one branch of my talent tree," she replied despite her brother rolling his eyes. "I can find where the employees tend to live and check around. Hopefully, I'll be able to find their residence within a day." Her eyelids actually closed for a second. It was obvious that she'd lied back to stare at the ceiling for dramatic effect, but she'd also inadvertently made herself even more drowsy once her head hit the pillow.

"I think the two of you might need some rest before you consider any detective work," Valmar chuckled while drawing the curtain over the window closed for them. "There's no rush since we're here now, and the initial search for scattered immigrant workers in a port city that probably has a high rate of employee turnover won't come to a finish in only one day. Try to get some sleep while I go out and see what I can find. I'll come back eight hours from now."

"Hmm...that's a difficult offer to resist," Navarion hummed, leaning his head back on the pillow. He turned to face the deadman standing by the doorway, so unwavering in the effort to help him find his daughter. "Valmar, you're amazing. My family will never be able to thank you enough."

"And you'll never need to thank me at all," their undead companion replied with the utmost confidence while walking out the door. In only took a minute before the sound of Sharimara's rhythmic snoring put Navarion to sleep.

* * *

The end of their first night in the Port of Winterspring was already almost over, and Navarion was no closer to finding leads as to where his daughter and her mother could be than he had been when they'd arrived. Sitting at the fifth tea house he'd crawled through that night while forcing himself to accept only drinking non-alcoholic beverages due to Sentinel prohibition, he slumped upon hearing once again nobody had heard of a sudden influx of immigrants from Tanaris.

The attendant behind the bar - an odd looking man of indeterminable race but who appeared to be half human, half dwarf - looked sympathetic but didn't want to intrude. "Look pal, this is a port city. We get immigrants every week from all over the world, and emigrants flow out all the time when things don't work out for them here. The sentinels down at the docks and up on the cliffs have a hard enough time registering every last visitor; those of us inside the city have no way of knowing who comes and goes." Looking contrite, the short man stopped wiping glasses during his downtime for a moment to reach beneath the counter and fiddle with some glasses. The familiar sound of hard ice cracking under a fragrant, beautiful liquid sounded off as the attendant mixed an obviously illegal drink. "On the house."

After a few seconds, the shadow hunter stopped staring at the countertop and looked up at the other biracial person standing behind the counter looking concerned. "Oh, sir, I can't be a burden on you-"

"On the house," the attendant interrupted him. The warm yet tired smile spoke of a man who normally wouldn't have been willing to even let someone open a tab much less give away a free contraband drink. Navarion accepted it so as not to offend; despite its low alcohol content, maybe it could help allay his fears.

The establishment he'd ended up at as dawn approached was smaller than the others, and more crowded with chairs. The lack of darts, billiard tables or live music meant that it was just a little less crowded before daybreak than the other places he'd visited; that made it both easier to get answers but also more depressing as he sulked over his inability to find any useful information at all. For an entire night, he'd gone from tea house to tea house asking about the group of workers that had arrived from a restaurant on the absolute opposite end of the continent because of some minor local contract dispute even most people in Gadgetzan hadn't heard of. And for an entire night, servers and hostesses shrugged and shook their heads, knowing absolutely nothing about this supposed group. Like most of the night elven cities raised after the loss of immortality, the Port of Winterspring was far more vibrant than the ancient night elven cities that had survived the Long Vigil; at over thirty thousand people, the port had a population comparable to that of Orgrimmar, the capital city of an entire faction. Teldrassil had a higher population than Nordrassil ever did, and New Auberdine had double the population of the old Auberdine which had been destroyed in a natural disaster. So many people lived in this place, robbing it of the cozy, laid back atmosphere he and his siblings had grown used to when visiting the night elf half of their family at inland cities in Ashenvale. The Port of Winterspring was an urban area of anonymous people going about their business, not a quiet glade where one could easily walk in and ask around about a total stranger while being welcomed as an honored guest.

It felt so pointless. Back in Ratchet it had seemed like a grand idea, but nursing his second glass of the watered down alcohol from behind the counter, Navarion just felt like an idiot. That they had managed to find any information back in Gadgetzan was a fluke, and only worked out because Zorena had managed to give them very exact information. But there, in the Port of Winterspring? They would quite literally have an easier time walking into Darnassus and asking about a random venison vendor or acord bread baker. They were searching for a pair of needles in a haystack bigger than the barn. A bitter dryness stung his parched tongue as he emptied his coin purse on the bootleg drink, carefully waiting for another attendant to come on duty so as to avoid the concerned, judgmental look the first attendant had been giving him as he politely demanded more. For so long he'd gone without a drink at all, and the sheer amount of stress he felt at quite literally losing the trail of the daughter he'd never met was surely more damaging to his mental health than a few drinks could be. After running through the establishment's entire stock of the illegal brew, Navarion had inched no closer to finding any sort of solution other than continuing to scour every single restaurant night in, night out until they found some sort of lead in the city of thirty thousand.

Hopeless. He felt so hopeless as the morning shift attendant finally asked him to leave, zipping up his coat and wandering down the street with his hands in the pockets in order to sober up and clear his mind. Despite being in Sentinel territory, the city was busy even during the daylight hours as outlanders engaging in trade and younger Kaldorei daywalkers staying awake at odd hours filled the streets, turning what was once a sea of light purple and blue into a more diverse mosaic of races. Anonymous in the crowd, he managed to stabilize his steps despite having downed an entire case of what tasted like bourbon mixed with whiskey - a terrible combination he would never have touched had there been a real selection. When he found the ramp down to the lower levels before him by chance, he took it, not yet ready to face his sister's scowl or a possible lecture from Valmar, who would always view all six of the siblings as children. At least he could blend in a bit better among all the foreign sailors and dock workers on the lower levels.

It was much more crowded the lower he went, further away from the residential district for the locals which was toward the top. More shops were actually made from proper wooden buildings grown out of the wide ring built against the cliff face, forming alleyways and proper streets at some points. It was easier to dip in and out there, and to form a slow but steady pace as he tried to walk off the alcohol without people noticing that he was repeating his trail at some points. The whole time, his head rang as the poison refused to leave his system just as the doubts refused to leave his head. Images of two stars watching him from afar refused to grant him peace even when he was perfectly conscious and public, reminding him of how far away they were when he had no idea where they could be. Shaking his head among the anonymous crowd that paid him no mind, Navarion turned in between two pawn shops in a more cop rowed area of streets that looked more like most international ports.

There, his heart froze. Way down the alleyway, in between handfuls of people going about their business, a cloaked figure passed by. There was only a quarter of a second before she disappeared into the crowd, a flash of a periwinkle colored face hoving out of his view.

It didn't feel the way he'd thought it would. There was no sudden rush of emotions that he'd expected, and even the memories drained away as the spirits whispered things to him that he ignored. For a little while longer Navarion stood there in the alleyway, wondering if he'd just seen what he thought he had. More people passed in front of the alley a few shops down as he weighed his options, and before he knew it he found himself walking.

The alleyway led him to another side street, much less crowded than the others. The sides of the stores and places of business faced toward him, and only a handful of tired foreign workers were around. Just as he was about to ask anyone if he'd seen her, he caught a glimpse of the back of the purple colored cloak again, and he found himself wandering after her without considering it twice. Winding in and out of more alleyways as the person wove an odd path, he grunted for the spirits to shut up as he tried to think about what he was doing. It was high risk to spy on her; he wasn't very stealthy and would risk being seen given how wobbly his legs were from the lingering drink in his system. If he were the first one she saw, then she might refuse to speak even to Valmar and all would be lost. But if he didn't follow her, he might never have a chance to learn where exactly in a city so large did she make her home. Not even caring if it was for or against his better judgment, he tried to hurry up, thankful that he'd at least caught sight of her during a depressing moment, even if it didn't feel like the huge reunion it should have.

Two streets over and they were away from the workers, moving in and out of the narrow side streets between warehouses and storage units on the lower ring as he tried to keep up with her despite her slow pace. A singular focus drove him; since he didn't see the girl with her, she was either going home or to work; she likely didn't have time for much else. When she retraced her steps and led him in a circle, his panic, excitement and nervousness overtook him. She knew someone was following her, even if she didn't know it was him specifically.

Unable to contain himself, he no longer saw any reason for the game. "Astra!" he called out as softly as he could. His voice shocked even himself as he realized he'd deviated from the plan and tried to communicate with her directly.

She showed no outward signs of reaction, and only continued walking around the alleyways in the warehouse district. For sure she had heard him, but she neither turned to face him nor sped up to lose him. It didn't make any sense, and he didn't know whether to feel as if he'd ruined his chances or had increased them. Feeling a surge of energy and manual dexterity return to him out of nowhere, he hurried up, seeing no more reason to play chase if she knew that, after so many years, he'd come to see her.

"Astra, please, I just want to talk," he pleaded, frustrated by the fact that he couldn't seem to catch up with her despite being much faster. It was as if she had every street memorized and he hadn't, despite the fact that he recognized the series of alleys they were making circles in at least three times. No matter how swiftly he moved, he could never see more than the back of her cloak and cowl and the occasional lock of thistle colored hair around a corner. "Please listen to me for just one minute, I'm trying to do the right thing!"

Finally, he saw her round a corner, leaving only her fixated shadow in view against the brick wall opposite the end of the alley he was running down. She'd stopped moving, and even in the glare of the early morning sun he could see that he'd somehow given her pause. Hopeful yet anxious about what he could possibly tell her, he followed her around the corner where he saw her long shadow cast.

Turning to the left, he found only a pile of crates casting the shadow, confounding him as he tried to remember if Astariel had ever mentioned anything about knowing arcane magic or shapeshifting into inanimate objects.

He barely had any time before the elbow of someone even larger than himself slammed into the back of his shoulder blade, knocking the wind out of him and sending him flying onto his hands and knees several yards away.

"Gah!" Navarion grunted as he skinned his palms on the asphalt of the empty side street. The heavy vibrations of the footsteps of someone very large sent him into fight or flight more, and he leapt up just in time to avoid being stomped on.

Adrenaline rushing, he tried to focus his hazy mind and spun around to face whoever was trying to mug him. In the glare of the morning sun, his nocturnal eyes had difficulty focusing and the figure moved so quickly that he could only notice that it was unarmored and even bigger than his father.

At the last second, he whipped out Khujand's old combat knife and parried the assailant's blade. The force of the strike knocked him back and his opponent's elbow inadvertently dug into his forearm as the two men clashed and jostled for leverage. So close were they pressed together that Navarion couldn't get a look at the guy's face, but he noticed the green hide at the same time he narrowly avoided being gored in the cheek by two long tusks. On instinct, he grabbed one of the two natural ivory weapons to yank the larger man's head down and twist it to the side, throwing the next swing off and giving him time to parry again despite having someone much heavier pressing right up against him. The heavy rumble of a powerful set of lungs rang in his ears and the odor of whiskey mixed with the smell of burnt out cinders as he tried to snake his body around the large green man's torso and push off of him to create distance.

Before he could shake his dizziness away, the blade came crashing down again. It was a strong, solid swing and years of combat training told Navarion instinctively that parrying it would result in his father's combat knife being snapped in half and his fingers being sliced off. Closing the gap and sacrificing the space he'd created, Navarion charged into the green man and bobbed under the swing. The man's forearm crashed down onto the shadow hunter's shoulder hard enough to jar his entire body, and his charge failed to knock the assailant off balance. The man's free hand gripped Navarion's neck with a power he had only felt from dragonkin and ogre chieftains, and he had only a split second to make the decision to go on the offensive. Swinging upward, he stabbed the combat knife into the man's wrist. The green hide was thick and tough but gave way under the serrated blade, and blood began to spurt quickly enough to enrage his attacker. The tomahawk came down a third time, but the man's wrist had been stung enough for Navarion to wiggle free and the flint blade cut into nothing but air.

A sharp nose longer but thinner than his own punctuated the blurry but still hateful face. The tall upper lip pulled into a sneer as Wendigo ignored his rapidly regenerating slashed wrist and charged at the smaller man again, trying to close the gap as he swung his tomahawk again and again. Once more space was in between them, Navarion dodged and swung back, engaging in a knife fight with a phantom of his past in an alleyway that had no side streets to exit from. Even the ashes that fell and coated the asphalt couldn't blur his vision from his condition, however.

Putting more space in between himself and Wndigo, Navarion slowed down and stopped fighting. The sudden dexterity and energy he felt couldn't be possible with all the alcohol he'd consumed, yet the physical sensation of the ground beneath his shoes and the knife in his hand indicated that he wasn't dreaming. The suddenly grey sky confirmed that something was awry, almost as much as the sight of a villain he'd slain a full twenty years before. The dryness if his parched throat tried to distract him from his thoughts and sting him until he became aggressive again, but he held his ground, standing with his hands at his sides as he and Wendigo stared each other down. The beast stopped fighting.

The disdainful sneer didn't leave the forest troll's lips. A deep growl emitted from his throat as if to challenge Navarion, yet the brute stayed in his spot, incensed by the half troll's ability to control him. "May you forever bear my affliction!" Wendigo cursed at him, sending a shockwave of whiskey waving off from his breath.

Pulse gradually evening out, Navarion stared at his specter as his fingers and toes tingled with numbness. Twenty years of mistakes and stupidity took the wind out of him a second time, and he ignored the burn of the embers landing on his shoulders and the back of his neck as the realization of his own slow suicide, however unwitting, dawned upon him. Wendigo roared at him, venting anger but remaining in place, frozen and impotent.

Conscious thought left from his mind, Navarion's lips repeated the truth it had taken him two decades to comprehend.

"Your affliction was your own...as mine is mine," he murmured, stupefied and mesmerized as his armchair self analysis caused the grey gas and the falling ashes to disappear from reality bit by bit. "You have no power to pass anything on; my problem is my own, caused by myself, and nothing more.

"You have no power over anything."

His own words echoed in his mind as Navarion felt a wind wrap around him despite there being no breeze. Wendigo roared again, defiant and spiteful as pure hatred fueled the ghost's rage over his foiled plans of torment. Reverting to his axe thrower heritage, the forest troll reared up to his full height and raised his tomahawk high above his head.

Refusing to give in to the threat or to continue blaming an external source, Navarion dropped his father's knife, casting weapons aside as he accepted his failures as his own along with his flaws. Even when Wendigo let the tomahawk fly, Navarion didn't budge, rejecting the notion that the beast be granted any satisfaction of thinking it was responsible for his condition. His flaws, his sins, his transgressions and his abuse of his liver were all products of himself, and only himself. If only he had realized it before the ghostly flint blade connected to the side of his head, he could have avoided a world of pain while dealing with his issues. He hit the ground as his world went dark.


	11. Years Long Since Passed

For the first time since they'd arrived, Valmar finally sat down; not because the undead could experience fatigue, but because it helped him concentrate his thoughts. "This is the third night here...that would make it nearly forty eight hours since we've seen your brother," he told Sharimara in a disappointed tone as they met inside the hotel room once again.

Sharimara grit her teeth as images of the worst case scenario flooded her brain. "He got thirsty, again," she grumbled.

"I don't see how that's even possible. The entire Sentinel faction enacted a prohibition on alcohol, opium and tobacco by decree; you know that."

"There are always means to obtain illegal substances in a city this large, Valmar; there's no avoiding it." She sat up on her bed, frustrated by Navarion's absence. They'd uncovered a decent amount of clues as to where the recent immigrants from Tanaris had gone after a long, long series of warming up to various migrant workers and would have felt comfortable taking their time before seeking Astariel directly were they not missing a third of their group. "I'm absolutely sure of what he's doing; the question is simply where he passed out."

Cringing at the thought of an infant he'd once held in his arms drinking himself into oblivion, Valmar tried to brush it aside. "Alright, look. My donations for Zelda's education have been funneled through the Sisterhood of Elune. I'm sure they have my name on file somehow; I'll see how much information they're willing to divulge about Astariel's latest withdrawals from the charity account at the benevolent society one tier up. That should give you a measure of time to hunt down your brother - it isn't safe to leave him wandering the streets if his condition is as you describe it," the deadman sighed in concern.

The warden, however, was much less worried. "My brother has been in this situation enough times to know how to behave; I'd feel sorry for anybody who tried to swindle him in his condition. He's more in need of a good boot to the behind than protection." Rising up off the bed, she merely laced up her shoes rather than actual boots.

Valmar moved toward the door but still seemed worried, even through his tin mask. "I can't estimate how long I'll be gone, and it's likely the same case for you. Either way, I'll come straight back here when I'm finished and hopefully be waiting for good news," he told her while opening the door and waiting for her to follow him out.

"Hopefully," she mumbled, her anger at her brother for his self destructive behavior when a little girl needed him to be an adult growing by the minute.

Outside of the inn, she and Valmar parted ways as he walked toward the ramp leading to the next tier up, quickly disappearing into the midnight crowd of mostly night elves mixed in with a few treants. Moving in the opposite direction, Sharimara tried to find the next ramp to move one tier down. Although she didn't know for sure, she had a feeling her brother would be found among the throngs of sailors and dock workers. She'd seen him during his binges enough times to know the pattern.

If she only knew how much she cared for him and the whole family, she thought to herself while traversing the long circular ring past various merchants, artisans, skilled workers and laborers. The way her sisters often relented after scolding him for his behavior and apologized for being harsh was all wrong; it would make it seem like an apology. Sharimara never went back to him after an argument to have a heart to heart discussion or make amends for possibly having gone overboard. To do so would remove all impact of her shaming of him for his often ridiculous behavior and it would betray a softness she didn't view as befitting of one who upheld the law such as herself. Tough love all the way, just like Irien.

In the name of Elune, Navarion was a father! In truth, Sharimara didn't blame him for not being there for the girl; he and her mother hadn't stayed together, and the woman had chosen not to inform him. If anything, Sharimara was slightly miffed that Astariel had chosen to keep Zelda a secret, as the girl was as much the flesh and blood of the Hearthglens as she was for this Astariel woman. Perhaps her brother truly had scarred the poor woman, but the bottom line for Sharimara was that she had a third niece in addition to the three others plus two nephews she had helped to raise. It wasn't Navarion's fault that he didn't know what happened after he and Astariel broke up or whatever euphemism her brother would call it.

It most certainly was his fault, however, that he proved so incapable of leading the normal life of a responsible adult. Ever since he'd first run off as a mercenary, he'd come back with a drinking problem and a tendency to leave every woman he dated broken hearted or otherwise hurt. His issues progressively became worse the second time he'd run off to fight around the world; Sharimara didn't know why, but she didn't think Astariel could be the reason. Navarion tended to hurt women, not the other way around, as far as she knew. And now, regardless of whatever issues he still had to work out, he would have to work them all out fast. He knew of Zelda's existence; he could no longer claim ignorance like before. He had a responsibility to be a role model for the girl even if he hadn't met her yet, and already he was failing.

The startled stop of two patrolling sentinels broke Sharimara's train of thought.

"Ishnu alah, outlan...sister," the sentinel stammered. The woman was obviously confused as to Sharimara's exact ethnic background, but was peering at her as if they knew each other.

"Ishnu dal dieb, sister sentinel," Sharimara replied with a bow. "I am honored." Suspicious as to what they wanted, she found herself silently hoping it wasn't about her brother and that he wasn't in trouble with the law again in so short a span of time.

When the second sentinel fixated on the color of Sharimara's hide and mane, the warden knew she basically jinxed herself. "Sister...do you happen to be missing a companion?" the second one asked in a voice that sounded almost identical to the first one.

Avoiding the urge to smack her own forehead, Sharimara switched into her formal monotone voice in case any sort of legal finagling would be required to get Navarion out of whatever mess he'd found himself in.

"Affirmative, sister; my brother has become lost. I assume you've seen him?"

Sighing and laughing to each other in relief, the sentinels both relaxed. "We found someone similar to yourself sleeping on a bench in a public garden. There were earlier reports of a man running around an alleyway fighting his own shadow until he stood still and then passed out, and the guy in the park fit the description. We would have taken him in if miss exuberant here hadn't been so fresh with him-"

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" the second sentinel interjected, cutting the first one off.

"Anyway, we decided to show mercy to him and led him to a coffeeshop instead. Hopefully all the caffeine will help him clean out his system, but we have our rounds to do and couldn't stay with him."

"Unfortunately..." sighed the second one.

"Behave. Anyway, we left him there and just prayed that he didn't get in trouble again after we let him go the first time. It is absolutely imperative that you reach him now and monitor his public behavior if you want to repay us for our mercy to him."

Ignoring the banter between the two blue haired sentinels, Sharimara breathed a bit easier, knowing her brother had been found. "Could you tell me at which coffeeshop you left him, my dear sisters?" she asked, going overboard in the politeness department to compensate for her growing irritation at Navarion. And the second sentinel.

"Of course. You just walk three shops down," the first sentinel instructed while pointing the direction Sharimara was already facing. "There's a fabric dealer there and the coffeeshop is right behind her building. It's called 'Once in a Blue Moon'."

"Alright, I'll go fetch him right now. Thank you, sisters." Making sure to bow formally, she bid the two patrolwoman farewell and watched them walk away before turning to approach the shop in question. For good measure, she punched a dove off the railing at the edge of that tier overlooking the cove to vent as much frustration as she could before accosting her substance abusing brother.

Right at the correct place, Sharimara could already hear the muttering and complaining of a mostly foreign crowd of workers as they ingested caffeine and commiserated and complained about their respective employers. A large number of them were seated on the patio out in front, leaving only a handful of people inside at the quieter, smaller tables. She could already see Navarion's disheveled mane from behind as he hunched over the table and nursed an entire mug of espresso.

Her troll genes encouraged her to smack him upside the head and berate him in full view of all the other patrons; thankfully, her elven genes won out and convinced her that he would either just smack her back or simply reject anything she would tell him. Breathing deep and mustering up as much calmness as she could, she sauntered in to the shop and took the empty seat opposite him, not without stepping on his foot on 'accident' first.

"Ouch!"

"Well there you are!" she beamed a bit irately, doing her best to play it off. She sat down and noticed two other empty mugs of what smelled like warm milk and Jade Forest coffee. "You disappeared for two nights and three days. What's wrong with you?"

His silver eyes shone as brightly as hers, but there was a strung out look to them in addition to the dark circles under his eyes. He'd been wearing the same clothes the whole time; elves had almost no body odor and half elves the same, but after so long in the same clothes living like a vagrant, her brother did begin to smell a little bit. In fact, his shirt looked like it hadn't even been shifted around or even taken off during sleep, as it eps as heavily wrinkled and had a few food stains on it. His movements were a bit too loose like he had slept but not had proper rest. She could only imagine where he had been.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, staring down into his espresso.

No sympathy or forgiveness entered into her heart. Not after he'd repeated this mistake so many times. "Do you even remember where you've been? Where you've been sleeping? How you've been getting food, water and access to a toilet?

Navarion rubbed his face as he seemed to perk up a bit. He didn't react to her irritated prodding one bit, keeping his cool but avoiding eye contact. In most cases, he reacted in hostility when confronted, especially by her. The two of them were always the most wild of the Hearthglen siblings and while she didn't sleep around or binge drink like him, their personalities were similar and their lifestyles were a bit rougher than those of their other sisters and brothers. That caused them to constantly clash, especially when she vented her anger over his habitual line stepping and excess.

This time, however, he didn't appear to be in the mood for a confrontation. While it didn't make her feel sorry for him in the least, it did lesson her aggression.

"I don't know, Shari; I just don't know. But I know that the whole mess was caused by me." He took another sip of his entire freaking it of espresso and set it down carefully while watching two Orcish dock workers making shadow puppets against the wall. "There's something wrong with me."

"What - it took you this long to real...ermph." Sharimara grumbled but stopped herself. As much as she wanted to ask him if it actually took him forty two years to realize he had a problem, she knew it wouldn't help. "Okay, you understand that there's something wrong with you. Great. But what are you going to do about it? You're a dad now, and somewhere in this city is a seven year old girl whose missed a lot of time having that paternal figure in her life. You can't let her see you like this," she told him, motioning up and down from his unlaced shoes to his upbraided goatee.

Before he answered, he finished his espresso and spent a good minute staring at the suds left at the bottom of his mug. A legitimate sense of loss washed over his face before disappearing, and she began to feel angry not so much at his mistakes but at the fact that he seemed to be losing the fire that normally blazed inside him, leaving him a charred, cooled off husk of a man.

"I don't know and there isn't enough time to psychoanalyze all my problems away. Any day now, we could end up finding Astra and our goal - if things go well - is that she sits down and talks to us, lets us see Zelda and works out some sort of system where mom and dad can visit the granddaughter they don't know about." His face grew a little bit grim, darker even, and he tensed up. "I'm not going to be a major fixture in this girl's life. I want to, but it's not happening. Not if she and her mom are living so far away, not after the way Astra and I separated from one another, not when I can't even be responsible for myself much less another being. My relationship with her, assuming her mom doesn't put an arrow through my head, will be holiday visits, maybe even letting her stay in Ratchet for a summer off school if her mom feels comfortable enough. That's it. That's life. That's the real world. That's how things work out for..." He paused, furrowing his brow the way Sharimara always saw him do when he lost a wrestling match and had no way to complain or cry foul. "That's the lot of deadbeat dads. I want to get better, I will get better, but I can't make up for lost time and past mistakes. In society's view, I'm a drifter who knocked her mom up in a one night stand and wasn't around for half her childhood. I have no regular job and I blackout and lose days at a time after drinking myself asleep at bars. I can try to change my lifestyle in the long term but for now, I know what I am and what kind of influence I'd be in Zelda's life. I'll do my best to be in her life, and I'll try to put up a good front for this meeting we're about to have and for future ones, but seriously fixing all my issues will require time we don't have right now. I'll just bullshit my own daughter and tell her I patrol the Gold Road in the Barrens for a living and figure out how to fix myself later."

After his combination of rant and ramble, he slumped into his chair and pushed a silver coin around the top of the table, tpobviously trying to busy himself. For the first time in Sharimara's life, she saw her oldest brother wearing the expression of a beaten man and she found it maddening. Always he had been the one to argue with her the most, to engage in insult wars with her the most, to anger her the most but also to challenge her the most. To see him slumping in a chair as if he'd accepted the fact that he would be a bad influence on his daughter and couldn't change quickly enough for her incensed Sharimara far more than had Navarion just continued drinking and stayed in denial. Like a wounded raptor, he looked content to just separate himself from the pack and die alone in an oasis. She wanted even more to smack him upside the head, but amazingly managed to suppress that burning desire.

"So that's it, then? You're an asshole and always will be so you're just going to be a holiday dad?" she asked pointedly.

Finally he looked up at her, but there wasn't that competitive flare in his eyes. Rather, there was a much stronger certainty than she was used to. "If you think that trying to poke and push me will somehow get me to do what you want, you're wasting you're time. I'm too old for reverse psychology and I have no more ego left to be threatened. I'm happy that you're taking being an aunt so seriously but your attempt to anger me into trying to change is a waste of your own time," he said in a flat, passionless tone.

At first she couldn't think of what to say. She knew how to combat him, debate him and argue with him from childhood, but there, at that coffeeshop, he totally disarmed her. She didn't know what to do when he simply refused to push her back, and the fact that he was likely right about wasting time stung her harder than anything he could have said.

She pursed her lips and shook her head at him. "You're wrong. I hate the way you think and it's wrong, I know for a fact it's wrong." When he smiled at her apologetically, hope devoid from his eyes, it stung her even more by the sense of helplessness his lethargy instilled in her. "You have to try. Even if you fail, you have to try to fix yourself faster. Look, this is your chance to become better. Look at the life you've led; you were wild early on, got a bit better for a period and then degenerated after you left the Argent Crusade. Every time a hurt ex girlfriend came around town looking for you, I was the one who had to explain to her that most of what you told them was a lie. You've led a bad life, that's the truth, but look at your chance. An opportunity to make up for past sins is here. A little girl needs a dad; you're not going to get a more clear cut, black and white opportunity than that. And you have to try. Otherwise, why are you even waking up in the morning? To piss another night away existing as some floating spec that leaves no trace in the world at all?" Realizing she'd been ranting and rambling herself, she stopped, searching for some sort of a reaction.

He continued pushing the coin around. "It's a waste of time," he mumbled, scaring her that he might start to break down right there.

"Then waste your time!" she urged him, hissing through her teeth and leaning forward so as not to be heard. "You admit you've led a rotten life, so fulfill your duty! You owe it to this girl who didn't ask to be brought into a world where her mom relies on charity for her education and they emigrate from city to city just to find work! Waste your time, every last second of it, because it isn't your time anymore! It was before when you didn't know you'd gotten somebody pregnant, but you have no excuse now!"

He didn't respond, and eventually she leaned back into her chair. The two of them sat, neither one of them speaking until Sharimara had to politely decline anything to drink when a server came by their table. She paid for his espresso just so they'd be left alone to their silence, but Navarion seemed content to sit motionless for a little while longer. She hoped her words echoed throughout his mind, but she had no way of knowing when he decided to go mute. Eventually he leaned back, nodding toward the door to signal that he wanted to leave.

She grabbed his wrist before he could stand all the way up. "Don't leave this girl to suffer. She needs you and you have to try. Please try, and don't think about failing," she told him a little less angrily, trying to make sure he wouldn't be able to avoid facing the fact of his obligation.

He only nodded in a way she didn't know was noncommittal or not, refusing to look up from the floor. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to leave, but waited for her to catch up and walk next to him. Stepping around the busier tables of patrons on the sidewalk outside, they made their way out onto the road ringing that tier of the cove and started the long trek back toward the ramp leading upward. The stars twinkled down at them and Sharimara felt the rare pull at her heartstrings as she wondered if her niece's eyes twinkled like that. It was a harrowing thought, to imagine a seven year old leaving a place as lovely as Dream Bough, losing all her friends and moving to an unfamiliar apartment in a desert only to find that her mother didn't have money and possibly even enough food. Zelda, the name of this girl she hadn't met, was a part of her and all the Hearthglens. Anger at her brother turned to a desperation Sharimara would never admit as she worried and hoped that Navarion would have the strength to break out of what appeared to be depression and be the man she felt he could potentially be, even if he did infuriate her sometimes.

The silver shine of the stars was broken by fel green heading their way, and the warden snapped her head down to meet the person walking over to them. Obviously a blood elf, he didn't wear the clothes of a traveler. A few decades ago, it would have been unthinkable for a Sindorei to live amongst Kaldorei; so long after the factional wars, however, it was almost considered normal, at least for the large international cities like this one. The man held his hands in his pockets like Navarion, but looked much more upbeat as he approached the siblings.

"Holy moly, is that you, Hearthglen?" the blood elf beamed as if he'd seen a ghost.

Jolting to a stop, Navarion did a double take as he bumped into someone obviously from his past. "Japheth? Is that really you?" the shadow hunter asked wearily as if he thought he might be dreaming.

"In the flesh, and still in one piece!" The blood elf named Japheth looked from Navarion to Sharimara, inspecting the color of their hides and manes. "I take it you're one of his sisters? The name's Japheth, Navarion and helped found the old guild waaaay back...by the Light, it had to have been two decades ago, right?"

Embarrassment growing by the minute, Navarion rubbed his eyes and Sharimara could sense the discomfort and trapped feeling wafting off of him. "Twenty one and a half years, I reckon. We kicked quite a lot of pirate, slaver and smuggler behinds back then, didn't we?" he asked the man in an attempt to force a joke.

"Boy, we sure did! Those were the days my friend, I thought they'd never end." Japheth laughed until his molar teeth almost showed, revealing what looked like a stab wound on his neck as he tilted his chin up.

"So this is Shari, she's my youngest sister."

"Ishnu alah!" Japheth chuckled with a Kaldorei style bow which Sharimara graciously returned. Normally she would have brushed off the stranger, but considering how little her brother ever spoke of his guild that had a few wild years before fizzling out, she was rather curious to hear what sort of memories they shared.

"So, do you live here now?" Navarion asked, tense but forcing himself to loosen up.

"Yeah man, I live just one tier down. Do you remember Sarah?"

"Of course I do, she was our best rogue - even better than you when it came to infiltration," Navarion laughed.

"We got married!"

"Get out of here!"

"No, seriously, we bumped into each other kind of like this maybe six years ago now, and we're coming up on our first anniversary."

Smiling warmly, Navarion appeared to be reliving some part of his past that made him happier. That it was a part of his past that didn't involve the family made Sharimara feel moderately jealous that his warmth wasn't shared with them. "Congratulations guys, you know a few of us used to joke about that. I'm glad things worked out."

"Oh, we're doing fine. We own a locksmith shop around the industrial and trade district."

"You're kidding me! That's perfect for you guys!"

"I know, right? Now we break into places and instead of getting busted by thieves and outlaws, we get paid for doing it! The sentinels in the area know us, so they always send people our way." The two of them laughed a little more before settling down. Navarion fell silent despite the blood elf obviously waiting to hear what his friend had been up to, forcing the blonde haired man to ask. "So I take it you guys are just passing through?"

"Yes, yes, we're...looking for a friend, you could say," Navarion stammered cautiously. "Once we're able to visit and perhaps share a meal with them, we'll be on our way."

"I'm sure. If you're back at Ratchet with your folks, then you have along trip back," Japheth replied while motioning toward Sharimara when he mentioned the family. "So what are you doing now, anyway? Are you one of the bruisers? Or a mercenary, maybe?"

"No, no, I'm not in law enforcement. We were always vigilantes; I guess that attitude doesn't disappear easily," Navarion chuckled. He was obviously nervous and Sharimara stayed silent as she noticed him go quiet again as if he didn't know what else to say.

"So...do you guys have a family business? Working with your parents or anything?"

"No, not quite. My brother Del does, him and my godmother Irien both handle the family work, for the most part."

Japheth furrowed his brow as if he thought Navarion were playing a joke on him. Good natured and good humored, the blood elf shrugged and ducked his head as if to mime his question. "So what do you do, for a living, I mean?" the man asked in confusion.

Tensing up once more, Navarion looked like a hodgepodge of different embarrassment was obvious, along with a measure of shame and frustration. "Well, for the past few years I've run some interesting quests and stuff. Just things around the Barrens, you know, whenever an interesting one is posted on the town bulletin board. Once we actually got this kill quest for a quack selling expired beets as a cure all. That was an interesting one." It was obvious that he was forcing the enthusiasm in his voice, doing his best to avoid admitting that he was technically unemployed.

Sharimara knew that the blood elf saw right through it. "Okay. Okay. Well, that certainly sounds like it can make for exciting times," the man consoled Navarion, yet he looked even more uncomfortable. Straightening up as if he would walk away, he mercifully ended the almost painful exchange. "Well anyway, it was nice to see you again. If you guys have some time, don't hesitate to come visit our workshop," Japheth said awkwardly without actually mentioning where his shop was located.

Eyes downcast and hands in his pockets, Navarion gave a quick partial bow as his disappointed former guildmate continued on his way. "We'll do that," the crestfallen shadow hunter mumbled without watching Japheth hastily leave.

There were a number of things Sharimara would have liked to tell her brother, but none of them seemed right. Upset that the best years of Navarion's life were spent with non-relatives and a little more worried about her brother's recovery and emotional state, she sufficed with a few words of encouragement and condolences, breaking her general rule of not being soft on him as she had to work to keep her own spirits up.

Valmar had been gone when the two siblings arrived at the hotel room. Assuming him off either at the Sisterhood of Elune donation center asking for information or generally snooping around, Navarion and Sharimara spent the remaining few hours of the night sitting in the room talking about a possible visitation plan for the family to be able to see Zelda. Of course, Astariel would have to agree to it, but they felt if they were able to present her with a viable plan then she would be more likely to agree. It was all speculation, but it helped both of them to relax, took their minds off of more serious topics and gave them hope that things just might work out. By the time dawn arrived, they had fallen asleep a bit early, knowing that they still had more time to figure out just where exactly the mother and daughter were.

They overslept, and it was already just past dusk when Valmar entered the hotel room quickly, causing them both to wake up. He let them rouse from their slumber slowly, not rushing them but obviously filled with a nervous excitement uncharacteristic of all undead except for him, it seemed. Waiting patiently, he didn't speak until they had both sat up and had a glass of water each.

"You were out all night," Sharimara murmured groggily. "Found some good news, I hope?"

For once, Valmar was unreadable behind his tin mask, merely staring at the two of them for a moment. "I have some news, yes. Official news. From the Sisterhood of Elune, and confirmed by one of the former managers of Topaz."

Both siblings sighed in relief and thanked the Forsaken profusely for having done most of the leg work while they slept. Silently, the deadman just nodded in affirmation of their thanks and waited for them to quiet down.

"So...where are they?" Navarion asked.

Were Valmar capable of taking a breath, he likely would have taken a deep one. "The pay was too low and Astariel got fired from one of her jobs for being late due to having to walk Zelda to school on a separate tier of his place. They sat for a few weeks, she found a second job only part time and with low pay, and then gave up." All the hope Navarion had earlier bore drained out of his face, and Sharimara could already feel the urge to do something to help keep his spirits up. "That isn't all. They decided to go back to New Nendis."

Both siblings jaws' practically hit the floor. "We're in the wrong city again?" they exclaimed simultaneously.

"Yes, but it's good news. They left under a month ago; now we know exactly where they are," Valmar reassured them. He grabbed all of their bags from the corner and dropped them between the beds. "Pack up, because we're flying to New Nendis. Right now."


	12. New Nendis Revisited

After the two siblings finished cussing up a storm in front of the undead man who had helped to raise them, and after he finished shaming them for their use of foul language when their whole goal was to reach out and contact a seven year old, the three of them promptly packed their bags and hauled everything back to the flight point atop the cliffs of the Port of Winterspring. Lucky for them, three hippogriffs as well rested as them were ready and available, and the trio undertook the ten hour flight to New Nendis in silence.

They had literally scoured much of the entire continent. From Ratchet they went to Dream Bough in the middle of Feralas, then on to the middle of Tanaris before stopping home and going all the way to Winterspring. They were mentally tired, and even the excitement of soaring across the open ocean to the northern Azsharan peninsula didn't calm the frazzled nerves of the brother sister duo. Valmar's presence was a godsend; had the patient undead not been there, they might have acted rashly or ended up wasting time arguing. Ever the authority figure from their childhood, he kept them both in check and on task, and by the time they could see the huge walls and hollowed out inhabited trees five or six stories tall marking the skyline of New Nendis, the two of them had almost calmed down.

The docks were just as Navarion remembered them, and memories already came flooding back just at the sight of all the merchant vessels and the shipyard of the Sentinel Navy detachment. This time he'd enter the city as a civilian, he wondered as they landed at a flight point near the docks, and as stressed out as he felt over making a good impression on the daughter he'd never met, he almost looked forward to experiencing the regrown ancient city when he didn't have patrol duties as an irregular soldier hired on a contractual basis to worry about.

The familiar inner city forest separated the docks from the city proper, hiding all outward visible signs that they were in an urban area aside from the high stone city walls off in the distance and giving the illusion that they were out in the wilderness rather than in a settled area. A few stalls used as storage for dock workers and a handful of shops housing supplies dealers and the headquarters of shipping companies had changed, in addition to a rather toned down traveler's hostel sprouting up. Other than that, little else was different at the docks.

"So where do we go?" Sharimara asked a little bluntly as Navarion surveyed the area.

For a second, he continued to look at the edge of the forest that stopped just beyond the docks. It formed a natural yet imaginary border between him and a lot of things he'd tried to forget a long time ago, and now he'd have to cross over. "The city proper is beyond these woods," he replied while motioning toward the trees. "We just need to cross over on one of the foot paths and we'll literally emerge inside the city."

"I suggest we follow the usual protocol of checking into an inn first so we can store our belongings and discuss any last minute plans," Valmar said as they all began walking through the miniature forest.

"Yes, that would be best," Sharimara answered. She turned to her brother, after marveling at the coziness of the dense woodland full of wisps. "Do you know where the hotels are?"

"Hmm? I don't quite remember, actually; I stayed in the barracks last time. It shouldn't be that tough to find them, though; half the city is up in the trees, and there are signs everywhere." Through the densely packed tree trunks, he could vaguely make out the shape of an ancient fountain in the wood that had been restored. A few local children skipped copper coins in it, and despite the intense memories it brought back, Navarion couldn't help but examine the children from afar to see if any of them resembled himself or Astariel. "I remember it being past the bazaar district," he added while speeding up his pace a bit.

Once they broke through the edge of the woods, they found themselves viewing the splendor of New Nendis as he remembered it. Even the starlight above had difficulty breaking through the canopy of the enormous purplewoods trees shooting five or six stories up, and the vine and branch bridges connecting those floors of the living city were bustling with almost as much activity as those in the ground.

"By the night!" Sharimara gasped.

"That is rather impressive," Valmar admitted as he admired all the living things.

"What's the matter, sis? Darnassus is still grander than this."

The warden shook her head while watching all the passersby on the narrow moonstone roads weaving in and out in between the numerous, towering tree buildings. "It isn't about the grandiosity. It's about the fact that this place was empty a decade ago. Astranaar existed for most of the Long Vigil and it isn't this big, or elaborate." There was a twinge of jealousy in Sharimara's tone, and Navarion knew why. Ever since their mother's ancestral grove ended up abandoned after it had been corrupted and despoilt during the period in which night elves were members of the Alliance, the family considered Astranaar the home base for their maternal side. Their blood aunt Unelia settled down there after marrying a human to raise their children, and since their father wasn't in touch with his roots, Astranaar was what the Hearthglen children referred to when they spoke of 'going back to the old country.'

Smiling and relaxing a little, Navarion began to lead them through the vaguely familiar streets, dodging the busy throngs of local night elves and furbolgs as well as foreign merchants from every major city of the globe as well. "Economics is the primary motivating factor of all political action," Navarion thought out loud, ensuring that his sister could hear him. "That's what you taught us, right, Valmar?"

"Yes, quite correct. Nine times out of ten, if you follow the money then you'll find the real reason as to why governments act." It was a good lesson they'd learned when the deadman worked as one of several tutors for the Hearthglen siblings during childhood, though Sharimara only pouted upon being reminded that even night elves worked in the pursuit of money. "This city has access to the ocean and is also a good outpost for territory that the Sentinels only regained...well, it's barely been twenty years since the night elves left the Alliance and began negotiating so aggressively for their ancestral lands. It's inevitable that cities like this will take priority when it comes to focus and development, even if cultural preservation is the guise showed to the masses."

"I get it, I get it," the half troll warden sighed as they moved around the various stalls set up beneath one of the few small clearings in the city. She almost elbowed a weiner schnitzel hawker in the head when the steaming delicacy was shoved just a little too closely to her face, but the trio managed to get past all the foreign and local entrepreneurs without incident. "I'm visiting the Echo Isles when we get home," she huffed.

As if knowing her intent, the deadman reluctantly doused her hopes again. "I'm afraid that the Echo Isles won't be much different. They're also a factional city, and the Horde is more concerned with their own economic answer to New Nendis, Ratchet and New Theramore than with preserving steppe pyramids and jungle temples only frequented by locals. Authenticity will be found inland, where there are few visitors and fewer inns." While Valmar had understood Sharimara's intent, he hadn't quite grasped her disappointment, and she looked more downcast rather than less.

Idle banter to cheer her up filled most of the time as they found a traditional style lodge away from the main tourist district, which was dominated by traveling merchants and their noisy entourages. The night was mostly uneventful as they rented what amounted to a loft with only a tarp covering their private ramp leading back down to the lobby p, harking back to old style Kaldorei communal dwellings with maximum sense of community and comeraderie and minimum sense of privacy. Even Valmar appreciated the break from all the running around they'd be doing, and they sat on the porch beneath the communal awning of the lodge, overlooking a small pond.

"So here we are again," Sharimara sighed while tapping her fingers on the table rhythmically.

"I was told by the Sisterhood which quarter of the city Astariel and Zelda living in, and that she returned to a property considered to be public housing," Valmar explained while drawing a map from memory on a napkin. "They've been here a few weeks, and from what I understand the Sisterhood of Elune branch here has provided stamps which can be exchanged for food while she looks for work."

Navarion winced and missed part of the exchange between his two traveling companions. Even if he wasn't directly responsible for the way his daughter was living - he'd only known of her existence for a month - a pang of guilt mixed with his sadness and pain. Though he might not technically know who she was or what she was like, or if she even wanted anything to do with him, she was his flesh and blood. To imagine that the poor seven year old had seen one of her primary caregivers leave this plane of existence only to be shuffled across four ends of the continent in less than half a year's time, all the while not knowing if she'd be able to continue going to school...

...he really needed to stop imagining so much. It hurt more than what he was used to, especially after having been numb for so long. Plenty of people grew up in public housing while living on food stamps. And as soon as he could find a regular job, the entirety of his salary would go to the two of them. Once he could figure out what sort of job he'd be able to do, other than catching and/or killing bandits.

"Yeah, why don't we do that?" Sharimara asked him, catching him totally off guard by drawing him back into a conversation he hadn't been paying attention to.

"Um...what?"

"Your former commanding officers! You told me that Astra served as an irregular soldier along with you. Surely you could make a call down at the military quarter and find out where she's currently staying, right?"

"Oh...yes, I suppose I could. The captain of my old unit was promoted to the commander of the military staff just before I left. If she's still in that position eight years later then I imagine she has access to the records for anyone who once served or even lived in the city in general - the military makes up a third of the government in night elf territory." Taking a napkin of his own, Navarion scribbled a quick diagram from what he could remember of the military quarter of the city. "Yes...I think I remember where her lodge would be. I'm not sure if I can just waltz right in to the district, though; it might be better if the two of you scope out the city while I go check."

"An opportunity to learn the lay of the land would be advantageous; in the event that you aren't able to enter the military quarter, it would allow us an early start once we begin looking. If it comes down to that," Valmar added.

Sharimara muttered under her breath. "We've been doing so much flying and running around, I feel like I'm the one on a military campaign. And the lodge doesn't have a shower, I can't even freshen up here."

"There's a bathhouse two streets over. At least, there was about eight years ago, and there were a few more in the area in case that one's closed..." Before he had even finished his sentence, Sharimara had gotten up and left. How she intended to be a full time bounty huntress one day, which might require her to pursue targets in the wilderness for weeks at a time, was beyond him.

"That's more important than you realize," Valmar lectured. He peered at Navarion as if he'd read the shadow hunter's mind rather than the other way around. "Attention to cleanliness is a detail so under appreciated by the male species."

"I didn't say anything."

"You need to freshen up once you're finished at the military district, too. I'm going to do as much of the talking as possible, but you've been traveling a long time and it's good to be ready for anything."

Since his sister was gone, so was Navarion's sense of apprehension over admitting to his fears. She wasn't cruel, but she was very blunt, often to the point of being terse. Normally they were the closest of all the siblings, given the similarity in their personalities. In this instance, however, he sought a more delicate hand. Straightening out his napkin map, he looked up at Valmar, who looked back as if expecting more. The deadman was an interesting fellow. Rather than being raised from a single deceased person, Valmar had been put together by a mad scientist as a composite of six people, three of which had been fathers and one of which had been a woman and a mother. He wasn't them, but he retained their memories and experiences and was able to empathize due to seeing everything from the perspectives that six different people might see it.

"I'm afraid of what's coming," Navarion sighed, feeling as if he'd just dumped a heavy load off his shoulders.

"You're worried about how Astariel will react to your re entrance into her life?"

"Well, that, and what I'm going to tell her. I know the plan is for you to do the talking, but eventually I'll have to face the fact of what happened between me and her. We didn't part on good terms...mostly because of me."

"Do you feel sorry for that?" Valmar asked despite probably knowing the answer.

"Of course I do. It's why I left in a hurry. It's why I spent so many years almost too afraid to step out of Ratchet. I hurt Astra when she didn't deserve it. She was no angel either, as I realized toward the end, but she didn't deserve to have me bail on her like I did. And..." Navarion smiled and frowned at the same time, both glad and sad at how Valmar had already pushed him into self analysis again. "And I was afraid to ever hurt anyone again. Every woman I've been with for a long term relationship has ended up either hurt. Or dead, for more than one. Astra and I were together only for one night, and...well, it couldn't work out. Not after Zhenya had just passed."

"You felt overwhelmed, you panicked and you crawled back into your shell."

"Yes...that's exactly it. I felt like I'd didn't know what else to do. She thought we'd be together, and I gave her that impression by responding to her. We were close. When I told her I was leaving, it shocked her. She felt hurt and didn't even know why she was being hurt." Running his palm over his mane and then down the side of his face to let his chin rest on it, Navarion felt a sudden sense of lethargy as he realized he would have no more time to compose himself. "I won't blame her if she hates me. So that's what I'm asking: I know you hate me, but can I please see the daughter you chose not to tell me about?"

Less sympathetic and a bit more commanding, Valmar changed his tone. "You don't need to worry about that at all. Stay on hand in case you're needed, but you leave the explanation to me and don't think about it. She'll be dealing with me, not you, and that makes things different. All you need to worry about is showing your remorse and your readiness to take responsibility."

"And if she doesn't want my remorse?"

"Then you're still the father of Zelda and you still have rights. The grandparents have rights as well, and that's even more significant seeing as how Astariel has no living family members of her own. And you don't have to defend yourself on these points; don't respond to her if she tries to engage you, either. You watch yourself, treat her with respect at all times if she chooses to interact with you and leave her alone if she doesn't."

Briefly, he met Valmar's insistent, very alive-looking eyes. The spirits told Navarion that the deadman was being objective, but his involvement surely must have been related to the fact that he, too, had no family members. His presence in Ratchet was due to Navarion's parents, and other than their community he had nobody. "You're going to a lot of trouble for my family...I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you," the shadow hunter admitted, almost a little embarrassed.

"And I've told you before that you don't need to. Charity is its own reward, and I can't sit by knowing that a family is split apart and that I'm capable of helping, but then choose not to help." Valmar gathered up his napkin with a map of the residential districts of New Nendis and sat back in his chair. "Your sister tends to take her time showering, but we need to get started on this now. I'm going to go for a stroll and just scope out the city. From what I understand, Astariel knows my name and that I'm undead, and nothing else; I could walk right by her and she wouldn't recognize me. So I'll just check things out for the time being and meet back here before the sun rises in a few hours."

"When the sun what?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm sorry. I'll meet you back here before the moon sets."

"I got it."

"We need you to go and contact your former commanding officer, in the military quarter. Try your best to get in; it could save us a great deal of time. Just make sure that you're back here at the lodge early enough to see your sister, and if we succeed in our information gathering tonight, we can plan on paying Astariel a visit tomorrow evening."

"Right, I'm heading out now, then," Navarion said while scooting out of his chair. "Hopefully there will be good news."

"Think positive," Valmar told him while standing as well.

The two of them went their separate ways rather quickly, and before he knew it Navarion was back out into the forested streets of New Nendis, one of many elven cities in the trees. Although a number of the stalls of the merchants from other Kaldorei cities or other races entirely had changed, the establishments run by locals had all stayed the same, as had the streets. The city had become a bit more crowded; what were once patches of grass now had huge purplewoods and greenwoods growing to the height of the rest of the forest city, sprouted under the direction of priestesses and Druids in a matter of months whereas similarly sized trees outside of night elf lands would take millennia to grow. All of them were naturally hollowed out and inhabited, and a large number of them appeared to be sentient and occasionally shifted their branches on their own volition.

Surprisingly, he did not find himself overcome by memories as he walked the familiar streets. Perhaps he should have remembered the early mornings he spent at tea houses with the other soldiers, laughing the night away at Tammie's bad jokes and Thresha's jokes that nobody knew were jokes. Perhaps images of Dmitri the last time Navarion had seen him just before the man died on the main campaign trail should have haunted him. And the reformed satyr whose name nobody could remember, a man who tried and succeeded in redeeming himself to nature. All of them remained in his mind, but they didn't come flooding back. On the most basic level, Navarion recognized the streets and trees of New Nendis and he knew very well where he was. Beyond that, it just felt like visiting any place he'd been to before. Disappointed at the lack of reaction inside himself and relieved that he had been spared a painful sort of reunion, he continued navigating his way southeast on the relatively narrow city streets as he followed the old trail toward the military district instinctually.

Before long, the high privacy wall of densely packed pine trees and wrapped vines came into view, along with the two guards posted at either side to keep civilians out. Pushing his way past a crowd of gawkers, Navarion smiled at his own luck as he realized one of the guards was a familiar looking furbolg he'd shared a bunk with during the campaign almost a decade ago. Since most of their tribes had been uncorrupted, the Sentinels began conscripting other races native to northern Kalimdor directly into their military. Given that most of the more ancient, skilled night elves were retired or dead and the young ones were less interested in fighting wars, the faction had come to rely on support from furbolgs, dark trolls, dryads and even a handful of tauren in order to supplement their ranks. While not armored, the bear man at least had a nearly full set of clothing bearing the Sentinel emblem and held a properly forged elven spear rather than a pointy stick. Familiarity flashed on the furbolg's face as well when the shadow hunter approached, and he leaned over to the night elf posted at the other side to utter a few words in his language, which she apparently understood.

She looked him up and down as he came to a stop before them. "Former irregular?" the sentinel asked.

"Yes, ma'am; served in the silithid eradication campaign alongside our friend here," Navarion replied while patting the furbolg in the shoulder.

For another second she looked at him blankly before giving him the nod. "Don't dawdle and make sure you're out within the hour," she told him while waving him through.

"Don't worry; I won't be here long."

Once inside, a number of changes were obvious. The street he was walking on was the same, but the ancients of war serving as living barracks had grown larger despite the number of garrisoned troops appearing smaller. More spacious living and eating quarters appeared to be the reason, in addition to more elaborate training and drill areas to form a smaller but more effective fighting force. Even if he never did plan on fighting in a military again, it was an impressive sight to behold.

Among the various on and off duty soldiers, he was more or less anonymous. Sentinel rotation schedules had become notoriously rigorous since the Third War, and anyone he had served with had likely moved on; that the furbolg guarding the gate was still there seemed like a fluke, and the furry man may have already served at different locations before having returned. There was a sort of calmness to being able to sightsee briefly without having to go through any introductions or catching up, especially when he wasn't exactly in the mood to reveal his reasons for being there to anyone from his past.

So when he finally did find the huntress lodge serving as the command center, he wasn't exactly thrilled. It was nestled behind a large purplewood used as an observation deck for the officers when they needed a bird's eye view of the training grounds, and it provided a bit of privacy for classified meetings that often took place on the second story balcony out back. None of that was of interest to him, however.

Taking a deep breath, Navarion tried to enter only to find a familiar looking club fashioned from a kodo bone blocking his path. Hide such a dark purple that it was almost black contrasted with a naturally neon green mane on a figure even larger than Khujand or Wendigo.

"Who you be?" asked a familiar voice in accented Darnassian.

Looking up, Navarion found none other than Ragnar, the dark troll of the Shadowtooth tribe with a dwarf's name. The noble savage had served as the personal bodyguard for Commander Lamia all those years ago before she had been promoted to brigadier general and left her old position to Soraya, Navarion's former unit captain. As happy as the half troll was to see the full troll, Navarion couldn't help but frown when he realized that Ragnar didn't quite recognize him.

"I'm a former subordinate of Commander Soraya, from back when she was but a captain," Navarion replied, trying his best to hide his chagrin at not being recognized.

The massive dark troll hunched over a little more to get a better look at the half troll, squinting one eye to examine...well, something. Before he could reject the request, a familiar and slightly surprised voice rang out from inside the lodge.

"His claim is true, Ragnar; he has my permission to enter."

Without hesitation, the Shadowtooth bodyguard stepped aside, standing at ease as he held the tarp open for Navarion to pass through. Standing on the other side was the familiar face of Soraya, looking pleasantly surprised and far away from the stern, occasionally irritable captain he'd once served under. She wore her full regalia for off duty time, complete with the decorated shoulder pauldrons night elves had once rejected as frivolous. Hands folded in front of her, she actually seemed happy for the visit, and the spirits spoke of more than a little boredom that his presence had relieved.

"Commander," he said to his former captain with a formal bow, making sure to dip his head lower than hers out of respect.

She nodded for him to enter into her command center, and a few officers busy looking at a maritime map of naval patrol routes didn't even bother looking up as the biracial visitor wearing civilian clothes entered. "I've had a number of former soldiers come back for visits, but I have to say, this is the most surprising of those visits. What brings you here?" Her tone of voice and light smile insinuated that she was rather happy for the visit, and he got the sense that her promotion might not be all it had been cracked up to be.

"Oh...well, partially to catch up, partially to find out what happened after everyone went their separate ways. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, no, not at all. I can spare a few minutes, especially for someone who helped me get to where I am today. I haven't forgotten that brief introduction to Marshall Silviel that you facilitates." She reached her hand out to call an aide to her side and began walking toward a table and a few chairs in a less crowded corner, likely the only space the busy command center had for taking a break from work. "Come along," she instructed her aide, "as this might involve news from other countries."

Remembering the brief meeting, he felt flattered but try to play it off as congenial. "That little introduction? That was all you. I was just a small connection through my mom, what with her and the Marshall being from the same grove and all. But I'm glad things worked out for you."

"Yes...things always work out in their own way." She sat down first, signaling for him and her rather quiet armored aide to do so. "We have quite a bit of catching up to do."

For quite a bit of time, they shared what they knew about their former comrades in arms, though Soraya knew much more than he did. Thresha and Calil were on again and off again; he'd pined for her for so long without telling her how he felt, before showing interest in another comrade of theirs and driving Thresha mad. They had apparently arranged to be stationed at the same location in Silithus, and were constantly wavering between being friends but more than friends, and an actual couple. It was cute and quaint at the same time. After Dmitri's death, Tammie continued serving as an irregular soldier for foreign militaries on behalf of the Exodar, never resting and never despairing but always keeping in touch with Soraya. Maya Ironwood II, the other woman Calil had shown interest in and the granddaughter of another woman from Cecilia's ancestral grove, had moved up in the ranks of the Sentinel Army and been integral to the ongoing cleansing process in Felwood.

Not all of the news was good. Brigadier General Lamia had retired to Mount Hyjal due to failing health and had recently died of old age, preferring the remnants of Nordrassil to the newer Teldrassil for sentimental purposes. Both Navarion and Soraya spent a good few minutes in sad silence after discussing Lamia's passing. She'd apparently been replaced by a transfer from Darnassus who was a consummate professional but also a rather distant woman not well known to the locals.

Navarion's news was less detailed but of great interest to Soraya nonetheless. She seemed both wistful and proud to hear that Zorena had moved on to the Emerald Dream, knowing that the tauren woman had spent much of her life not knowing what she wanted to do with it before finally finding her calling in old age. As the primary chief of the general staff in New Nendis, answering only to their new brigadier general and the highest ranking local priestess at the temple, Soraya had many questions about political developments beyond her people's borders as well as the perception the Steamwheedle Cartel had of the Sentinels. Numerous specific questions about which aspects of the society in northern Kalimdor gave good impressions to foreigners were sent his way, signaling that Soraya had little contact with the outside world despite all the foreign merchants in her city. Navarion answered every question in earnest, not wanting to disappoint her when he was about to request information that wasn't legally his business; at least, not unless he could provide proof that he was the father of Astariel's child, which would open a long series of uncomfortable questioning he just didn't want to get in to.

Taking a calculated risk once Soraya paused and seemed finished in her line of questioning, Navarion tried to be subtle. "I do have one question, about an old friend who is no longer actively serving, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind; ask away."

"Do you happen to remember another regular named Astariel? Her family was from the unnamed, so that's all she would go by. Her parents were natives of the Old Nendis."

Going through a mental list of citizens under her authority, Soraya tapped the bridge of her nose while staring into the small table between them for inspiration. "I do recall a youngblood about your age by that name, but if I'm not mistaken, she moved away along with her daughter. She and Zorena were friends, I believe the Druids used a form of natural portals to transport the three of them south," she explained, speaking slowly as if the memory were hazy in her mind.

"I was told by friends of friends of friends that she and her daughter moved back here almost a month ago. It's been hard getting in touch with her since it's been so long." Navarion turned toward a sealed room marked for records. "If she did move back, would your center happen to have a notice for that?" he asked.

"Yes, especially for someone descended from the original inhabitants. She's guaranteed a place to stay by birthright. Just a moment. Sister," Soraya called in a raised voice toward a younger recruit wearing a private's armor and pushing a mop and bucket.

"Yes, commander!" the young woman replied nervously. She almost knocked the bucket over when jumping to attention.

"Check the files for a native by the name of Astariel. She may have returned almost a month ago and is guaranteed housing."

"I am sworn to...affirmat...done!" the clearly flustered new recruit replied while struggling to find a place to store her mop and bucket.

While the young woman rummaged through the sealed room and forgot to seal the door behind her, Soraya turned back to Navarion and her personal aid. Her look was one of the stern yet satisfied disciplinarian Navarion had initially known her to be, before he had saved Thresha and Calil from an unpleasant stink bug attack and then introduced the commander to Marshall Silviel. Toward underlings that had not yet proven their worth, Soraya was still the same strict, imposing commanding officer. Some things never changed, he mused to himself.

"You have to stay on top of these kids, otherwise they really do take a mile for every inch," she joked when the new recruit sounded like she tripped over something and fell in the records storage.

After a few moments, the recruit stumbled out of the storage room, her ponytail loose and falling all over the places. At first she appeared unsure of whether or not to just stand at attention or hand the filed registration paper she had in her hands. Eventually, she settled for reading them in a really loud monotone voice.

"Citizen Astariel returned to New Nendis approximately twenty four days ago, ma'am! Currently living inside assigned housing unit #23 at Cherry Blossom Court with one daughter and receiving financial assistance!" As if to punctuate her diligence, the recruit saluted, sending her flagrantly unsecured ponytail flapping over her shoulders.

Smiling and nodding back, Soraya sent the flustered young woman into a mildly giddy stupor the same way Silviel had done to Soraya so many years back. "As you were, private. Keep up the good work."

"Oh, thank you commander!"

Once the starstruck youngblood had bounced away on her toes, Soraya turned back to Navarion. "You ought to pay her a visit since you're already here. She was a fine archer and a loyal citizen the last time I saw her." Completely unaware, Soraya sipped on a cup of tea that a gnomish lodge attendant brought to her. As far as she probably knew, this was just a case of an old friend searching for an old friend.

"I hope I'll be able to," he murmured while accepting a cup of tea for himself.

* * *

Nervousness consumed Navarion as he and Sharimara trailed behind Valmar. Since most of the city's inhabitants were only just waking up that evening - it was barely dusk - the streets were mostly empty. A handful of day shift night elves patrolled the streets, but for the most part the diurnal minority of furbolgs, tauren another races handled jobs during the daytime, and their numbers were much fewer. Every night elf city seemed to be a city that never slept due to the split shifts, though thankfully there were relatively few people on the narrow residential path that evening as the trio slowly walked toward Cherry Blossom Court.

Shifting uncomfortably in the Kaldorei tunic and kilt he wore, the half night elf, half jungle troll tried to adjust his outfit one last time. Although they'd packed enough casual clothing for the trip, Navarion hadn't brought anything nicer than a wool smock, work boots and a sort of international style loose pants worn by both men and women of all races in more multicultural cities. After a thoroughly depressing discussion with Commander Soraya about the loss of Zhenya and Pontus, an Archdruid she had fancied during the campaign all those years ago, Navarion had returned to the inn too sad to go out and shop for clothing. On his own accord, Valmar had rushed out during the daytime to find any Kaldorei formalwear that would fit the shadow hunter. A single tunic and kilt that had originally been sized for a full blooded troll but then shrunk in the wash was the best that could be done, and he had to suffice with that and a pair of cotton underpants that wouldn't create static electricity against the fabric of the kilt. It felt awkward, but he hoed to make a good impression on his daughter - certainly better than that of a troubled perennial quester living at his parents house after forty.

His heart practically jumped into his throat when he saw the street sign from afar reading Cherry Blossom Court. Even after an entire month, it didn't feel like it had fully sunk in that he'd sired a child. The little girl he was about to meet wasn't another niece of his, or some young distant family member. This was a child that was a part of him, and who had probably needed him on many lonely nights and difficult days. His heart ached to think of a part of himself living without a complete family, but he wasn't in a state of shock like he'd expected to be. Maybe it would hit him later, or maybe he was just exaggerating the situation; he had no way of knowing, no precedent for this experience at all. Just the feeling of an impending emotional roller coaster when he would finally be able to see the little girl he hadn't been there for.

As if noticing his apprehension, Sharimara patted him in the shoulder, a rare consoling effort from the usually prickly warden. "Relax. This is your daughter. Any bad blood between you and her mom has had eight years to simmer and cool down," she spoke to him in a voice that wasn't soft but that she probably thought to be. It was endearing and would probably be the only time in his life.

"I'm trying," he sighed, trying his best to force himself to be calm. "I think I'll be alright. I just hope they are."

The three of them rounded a corner on the street ringed by trees. In addition to the fact that the various apartments in the public housing zone happened to be inside of large trees, there were also numerous, uninhabited trees filling in the empty spaces, obscuring all visibility and truly making New Nendis feel like a city inside of a forest.

The narrow footpath led to a cul-de-sac formed by a ring of hollowed out tree dwellings. The three of them stopped for a moment to check out the area, noticing a pleasant little gazebo in the center surrounding by the perfectly straight moonstones paving the road. A far cry from poor neighborhoods in the cities of other factions, the place seemed as safe and cozy as any other night elven district, right down to a communal drinking fountain that looked well maintained. There was nobody on the street, but the spirits told Navarion that they were being watched.

"Somebody is observing us," the shadow hunter murmured in a low voice to his companions.

Scanning the area quickly, Sharimara ruffled her ears and looked off to the side next to one of the tree dwellings, all of them accessible by ramps winding around the trunk rather than stairs leading through. In a flash, a cloaked figure who had been hiding in a tall bush moved in one fluid motion from her secluded spot to the ramp on a tree labeled #23 and ascended in a matter of seconds, quickly disappearing from sight. The person's head had been covered, and in a way the jitters made sense; in a poor neighborhood, three strangers often meant trouble. But they were in a city run by the Sentinels, the faction with the lowest crime rate. And the person's cloak was light purple in color.

It wasn't a flood of emotions that came rushing back, but it was certainly felt, and any residual frost he may have had inside his chest melted away. "That's her!" Navarion burst out just a bit too loudly while pointing over Valmar's shoulder toward the ramp. "She noticed us coming!"

Undaunted, the undead held Navarion's arm back. "Calm down, just settle down. You wait here and let me do the talking."

No sooner had the words escaped the dead man's lips and reverberated against his tin mask than had the archer responded rather quickly. "I'm not talking to anybody!" a familiar, sweet yet distressed voice cried out from further up the ramp but out of view. She didn't sound spiteful or angry, but very, very serious and a bit panicked.

Just as Navarion was about to respond without even knowing what he would say, his sister clamped her hand tightly over his mouth and pulled him away. The reunion between him and Astariel was supposed to be intense. It was supposed to be emotional, heated, difficult but decisive. So many scenarios had flowed through his head over the past few weeks of just what he would tell her, what she might tell him and how he might feel when he saw her again.

But that was not to take place; not then and there. He had only caught a glimpse of her cloak that was too fleeting to spark anything more than the tingling sense of recognition of someone he hadn't seen in a long while. Before he could flip his sister off of him, Valmar had already turned to face him.

"Listen well, and think clearly. She feels threatened. There's nothing you can do to help calm her down now except to leave her alone. Everything is going to be alright; just let me handle this."

Sharimara continued holding his mouth closed until he poked her hand with one of his tusks and she let go. Gulping and catching his breath from her rough treatment, he looked from his travel companions up to the tree dwelling. Astariel was so close, perhaps only ten yards away from him, and further up that tree was Zelda, waiting inside and oblivious to the fact that her father was waiting for her right downstairs.

Miraculously controlling himself, he relented and paced his breathing. Unable to speak due to the tightness in his chest, Navarion just nodded in affirmation that he wouldn't interfere. Regardless, Sharimara pulled him even further away behind the gazebo, out of view of the tree dwelling but within earshot due to their long, sensitive ears.

Footsteps as light as most undead, Valmar walked up the ramp part of the way to address Astariel, who the spirits claimed had not left her hiding spot on the part of the ramp opposite the cul-de-sac. Speaking in a kind, cool voice, the undead tried to reason with her.

"Astariel...this is Valmar. I'm the benefactor who dealt with Zorena regarding your situation. Do you know who I amr?"

Quiet for a way too long, she didn't answer immediately and Navarion's pulse began to race again. He knew she was still there, but he didn't know why she wasn't saying anything. Her silence was maddening, all five seconds of it.

"Yes, I do," was her only response. It sounded both tired and a little bit forced, as if she'd rather be anywhere else but didn't want to turn and walk away rudely.

"It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, though I wish the circumstances were different," he said dryly, using a form of humor that might have been lost on her. "Astariel, I understand that it must be very strange for you to finally meet me...now, of all times. And my colleagues might not have been what you preferred to bump into tonight. However, it is imperative that I speak to you regarding your and Zelda's current living situation."

"Please, I don't want to talk or see him," she replied. Her tone of voice insinuated that she was asking rather than demanding. Naive as ever, Navarion thought to himself; were she dealing with someone that wasn't honest or good natured like Valmar, she would likely be setting herself up by such an attitude. "I just want to be left alone."

"You don't have to talk to him. You don't have to deal with him. You don't even have to see him. You've been able to trust that I provide for Zelda's education for all these years; you can trust that I won't lead you to do anything you don't want to do. That's a promise. But please, Astariel, it's urgent that I'm able to talk to you myself. If anything, this is for Zelda's sake."

For a second, her breathing grew heavy, and Navarion found himself internally praying that she'd be able to collect herself before Zelda either came out to see where her mother was or her mother went inside. Her words hurt him more than he would have liked to admit, but when she spoke again, it at least gave him something to focus on.

"Well...alright. Only to you, mister Valmar. Not anybody else."

"Not anybody else," he promised her.

Cautiously, she shifted on the ramp as if she were standing up. "Zelda will be waking up soon. Please speak quietly once we're inside the apartment."

A few more muffled words could be heard before the sound died off, likely due to their entering her apartment. Inside, there was no telling what they were saying to each other; Valmar was undead and very difficult to read via voodoo, and Astariel was difficult to connect to due to his anxiety. Behind the gazebo, he turned to his sister.

"What are they saying? Valmar never told me what he was going to say," he asked urgently, hoping she'd somehow managed to talk things over with the deadman at some point in time when Navarion had been at the military quarter.

"Your guess is as good as mine. But knowing Valmar, he'll likely do more listening than talking - and that's probably what Astariel needs."

"Ok. Ok. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. And maybe if she talks it out, she'll calm down and things will get easier."

"Think positive," Sharimara told him.

They waited for a minute, and then five. Five became ten became fifteen became twenty, by which time the two siblings had already sat down inside the gazebo.

"What's taking so long? Has she been talking the whole time?"

"I don't know, Navarion. And speculating about it won't do us any good. The best thing is to just wait it out and imagine what it will feel like to finally know the living situation of your daughter."

Half an hour passed, and soon it must have been forty five minutes. Their mechanical gnomish clock had been left back at the inn, and there was no way to measure the time. Eventually, Sharimara started talking in order to pass the time, and possible to help soothe him as well. She actually refrained from her usual bluntness and tried to keep him focused on everyday topics, once again displaying a care that wasn't the usual for their sibling rivalry. They discussed work, the prospects for regular employment in Ratchet and a theoretical visitation schedule were Astariel and Zelda to permanently settle down in New Nendis. Not only did it help him to relax, but Sharimara's objective demeanor helped him to actually lay concrete plans for growing up and getting his life in order once they returned home.

Just past the one hour mark, familiar light footsteps sounded off as Valmar descended the ramp leading down and around the tree. In earnest, he made his way over to the gazebo and sat down next to Sharimara, opposite Navarion. Though he could never grow tired due to his condition, he did look like he'd just come out of a marathon negotiation between the Forsaken and the Alliance.

"Alright, I'll give you the bottom line. Navarion, you're not to look at or speak to Astariel directly. She doesn't want to deal with you yet at all, and she's absolutely serious on this point. Eventually, you'll have to communicate due to Zelda-"

"So I get to see her?!"

Pausing after having been interrupted, Valmar waited for an apologetic nod signaling that he could continue. "No, not yet. But you will get to see your daughter eventually. That part wasn't so hard. But for the time being, you aren't to try to see the girl or talk to her. Understand?"

"Of course, definitely," Navarion answered without a second thought. "But when exactly will I finally get to see her?"

Not even realizing that he was dropping yet another bombshell, Valmar spoke nonchalantly as if the answer were obvious. "Probably around the same time your parents do back home. A boat ride back is about three days or so, so during that time we should be able to devise a good explanation as to why they've been kept in the dark the whole time once, you know, they find out that they're grandparents for a sixth time." He paused for a moment, though not for effect. "What? What's the matter with you two?"

The pair of jaws that had proverbially hit the floor took a moment to recover and look back up. For the longest while, the two of them sat, examining the deadman and trying to comprehend just what exactly he was saying. Noticing that they were flabbergasted, he remembered his manners and gave a fuller explanation.

"Obviously, Astariel and Zelda are coming to Ratchet with us. They're packing their bags right now."


	13. The Wait

Navarion hunched over on his bunk in the cabin, tired of lying down so much as he felt the hours go by. Almost two days into the voyage they were nearly home, yet he felt no closer to finding a solution for the various problems that seemed endemic to his life.

That Valmar had convinced Astariel to let Navarion see his daughter at all was a feat he'd almost believed not possible. When she first saw the trio and ran up the ramp leading to her house, he more or less panicked and imagined scenarios of her hiding in her apartment and refusing to see any of them. Thus, when Valmar managed to gain entry to her apartment and her attention for a short period of time, Navarion had been impressed nonetheless.

When the Forsaken had convinced Astariel not only to allow visitation but to go back to Ratchet with them, Navarion should have felt elated. But when that agreement was packaged with the condition that he not speak to her at all and not try to see his daughter - yet - it just became confusing.

Slumping on his bunk on the Steamwheedle ship - which was a bit undersized due to being goblin-made - he just held his head in his hands and could almost hear Valmar repeating what Astariel had told him of her situation again.

Indeed, the restaurant in Gadgetzan known as Topaz had recruited from the culinary school she'd trained at in Dream Bough. They'd searched far and wide for the most talented staff they could find, giving the fledgling cook a confidence boost and a renewed sense of hope for Zelda's future since Zorena, the girl's surrogate grandmother, would be leaving to the Emerald Dream. Thus, when she arrived at the desert city and found that the promised housing wasn't ready for the employees, she'd persevered. Her colleagues all pitched in to rent rooms in the same building, enabling them to support one another as they tried to get the highly anticipated fusion restaurant off the ground. When it floundered due to contractual disputes, her hope had been dented but the presence of coworkers in the same situation mitigated that dent.

Many of them moved on to other places and didn't keep in touch. Some returned to their home cities to live at the homes of family members until they could get themselves back on their feet. Others tried their luck at other port cities such as Fuselight-by-the-Sea or Menethil Harbor. A handful just disappeared while a large number ended up traveling to the bustling Kaldorei cove known as the Port of Winterspring. Fortunately - or so she had thought - she did get a job as a cook at a greasy spoon in Gadgetzan, but had difficulty supporting Zelda. When a few more colleagues began to talk about traveling to the other end of the continent, she'd emptied the charity account Valmar had set up for her in order to fund the long travel for both herself and her daughter. Before Navarion and his family had even set foot in Tanaris, Astariel and Zelda had already joined a second group of ex-Topaz employees on a ship to Winterspring, hoping for greener if snowier pastures.

Luck didn't favor the hardworking single mother, though. Although the Port of Winterspring had a large number of restaurants serving the many travelers passing through the city, none of them were new and none of them individually had enough space for all the former Topaz staff. They'd all split up, trying to keep in touch as they all worked at different establishments according to different schedules. Days and weeks ticked by as most of them weren't able to see each other regularly and found themselves in a busy metropolis where most of their new coworkers already knew each other and had their own social circles to attend to. A few of the former Topaz staff members succeeded and became quite busy, while a few still had given up after similar difficulties and gone their separate ways. Ultimately, Astariel had been one of those. Her salary at a large restaurant had been decent but not as much as she had envisioned, and her work schedule constantly called for overtime and kept her away from the home. There was a private school that was just out of her budget even when she worked overtime, and the charity school run by the Sisterhood of Elune had already taught Zelda everything they could at her level; on Azeroth, education was still considered a luxury and not a right, even in a supposed egalitarian society like the Sentinels.

Defeated and downtrodden, Astariel had given her two weeks notice and explained to Zelda once again that their living situation wasn't working out and they'd move again and then things would all be better. That part, in particular, stung Navarion; if his seven year old daughter was as intelligent as Zorena had claimed, she'd either see right through it and despair or, less likely, accept that this was life and there would always be a better tomorrow.

New Nendis had always been Astariel's last option, which is how they'd found her: with nowhere else to go. Because her parents were from the ancient pre-Sundering city more than ten thousand years ago, she had the legal right to claim housing and stipends for food and clothing. No longer having to worry about rent or the bare necessities, she'd been able to work part-time while tutoring Zelda on her own, though having only attended school until the age of thirteen herself, there was only so much Astariel could do before it eventually wouldn't be enough. By the time the trio had arrived and found her downstairs pumping warm water for the bathtub, she'd more or less run out of options.

Valmar didn't censor much when explaining the agreement to the waiting father and aunt of the girl. Astariel was desperate but also very conscious and aware of her situation. In theory, she could continue living in New Nendis, tutoring Zelda until her adolescence and then putting her to work just like how Astariel herself had grown up. It isn't what she wanted for her daughter, but such is life, and she at least knew that she was only dependent on the Sentinel food stamp system and not any specific person' not even Valmar's once she reached New Nendis. Whether she wanted to accept any sort of support Navarion would offer was her choice alone and she had the ability to decline. On that point, Valmar explained that she was crystal clear and adamant.

So it came as a surprise that she not only accepted the news that Navarion would do his best to support them, but also Valmar's claim that Cecilia and Khujand - Zelda's grandparents - would support her in living a much more comfortable lifestyle and send Zelda to any school she wanted, but only if she agreed to live in Ratchet so the Hearthglen family could see Zelda every weekend instead of a few times a year. Of course, Cecilia and Khujand had no idea that Zelda even existed, but Valmar was resourceful enough to take care of that point. The most important point was that the grandparents would pay for lodging and school, Navarion would pay for food, amenities and spending money and Astariel would be left alone to live her life as desired, only encountering the family when dropping Zelda off at their estate for the weekends. It was entirely within her power to refuse, but the offer was obviously an attractive one given her situation. That Valmar had mentioned the large number of restaurants in Ratchet catering to locals rather than travelers cinched the deal.

Per the usual with bureaucracy, the group had spent two extra days at New Nendis while Astariel formally waived her right to government support in the city and suspended her claim on housing unit #23 under the agreement that she could return at any time given at least two weeks notice before arrival. During that time, neither of the two siblings had been allowed to establish contact, relying solely on Valmar to run back and forth between them. To an extent, Navarion had managed to calm down a good deal. They'd found his daughter and her mother, even if he hadn't been able to see them yet there was a measure of closer to their search that had literally taken them across the entire continent. And they were even moving to Ratchet, the very city he lived in. And he would get to see Zelda every weekend. The young girl would finally have a stable life after half a year of relocation and uncertainty.

Yet Navarion still felt upset. As positive as the outlook was, his happiness was blocked. After eight years from their separation, a measure of feelings had been brought back up. Repressed but not expunged, they bit at his soul harshly and refused to let him breathe easily once they had finally boarded the ship. He and Astariel had never been together, though she had wanted and even expected that, and on some level he had too. No rush of emotions flooded over him when he'd caught a glimpse of her figure and heard her voice, but he still cared for her; there was no denying that. To think that someone who had once been so close to him had worked so hard, learned a trade so well and had circumstance and bad luck thwart her at every turn made his heart ache. Knowing that that someone was also the mother of his child, even if his life was separate from hers, made it hurt even more.

For the longest time, he continued sitting on his bunk in the cabin as the surprisingly balanced goblin ship vibrated but never swayed or rocked. Images in his head of what Astariel might have gone through, the fears she may have bore on those days where she sat up awake wondering how she'd take care of Zelda, refused to grant him any rest despite the hard part being over. Navarion himself had become depressed simply knowing Zelda was out there and living a difficult life. For Astariel, who was living that pain every waking moment for the past six months and probably various periods before that, looking at the bright, starry eyed young girl and wondering how to explain to her that she couldn't go to school anymore must have been a living hell.

A typically heavy knock at the door indicated that Sharimara had returned to their bunk. Not needing to sleep, Valmar gave the siblings their privacy and ensured that all meals were brought directly to Astariel and Zelda's room so they wouldn't have to leave. The two siblings had split their own cabin on a completely different deck of the ship, but the sister had left an hour ago when, much to her delight, Valmar had dropped by to inform her that he'd convinced Astariel to let her meet Zelda. Without even asking if Navarion could come or sympathizing with him, Sharimara bounded off to meet the niece she hadn't known she'd had until a month before. Her interest in the case was immense, and a sign of how tightly knit their family was; family bonds were taken very seriously, whether for blood relatives like the two siblings on board or through adoption like Tiondel and Anathil.

That didn't lesson Navarion's shock when, upon her entrance, he noticed that she'd actually teared up a bit. Of all the six Hearthglen siblings, Sharimara was the most hard headed; she was stubborn, she was fiery and she never cried about anything, ever. So when he noticed that she had cried after the meeting, he tensed up.

"Hey," she sighed happily despite her congested nose as she sat on her bunk on the opposite wall to face him. "Could I get one of those?" she asked while pointing to a box of tissues behind him.

"Oh, yeah. Here." He handed her two and she blew her nose and then wiped it, looking nothing like the steel hearted warden the family was used to seeing.

Waiting with baited breath, he leaned forward but resisted the urge to rush her until she tossed the two tissues into the rubbish bin. Less composed than she normally was, it took her a moment to realize that he was staring at her. She smiled almost goofily, which helped him to relax a little bit.

"She knows you're here, and that she's going to go to school in Ratchet. She hasn't let all the moving damage her hope like her mom did," Sharimara explained, her eyes appearing to shine even more. "She's as smart as Zorena claimed. She's taken all the moving surprisingly well for someone so young. I think she's more mature than you are." Sharimara grinned wide, exuding a giddiness completely different than the sense of despair Navarion had himself felt for more of the search.

Dizzy from his increased pulse, he could no longer contain himself. "What did she say about me? How does she feel? What does she know?" Navarion asked in a single breath, garnering a laugh from his sister.

"Well, she doesn't know you, but she's a very smart girl and does want to meet you. She doesn't seem to actually love you since you've never met, but she wants to see you. All this worrying you've been doing has been for nothing."

As logical as Sharimara's words were, it seemed too good to be true. He should be nothing to Zelda; he hadn't been there to take care of her. He almost felt undeserving of meeting her, in a way. As if noticing his consternation, Sharimara broke the silence again.

"I doubt Astra has told Zelda too many bad things about you, or if she has, then the girl didn't buy into all of it. Which is possible - she talks like an adult. She got your brains but without your bullheadedness."

"Look who's talking," he retorted weakly in an attempt to cheer himself up.

This time, Sharimara leaned forward, looking him over carefully. "You're still upset. You shouldn't be."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"I'm happy but I'm nervous. That's all. I don't know what I'm going to tell her about me not having been around."

"Just tell her you didn't know because you and Astra lost touch, and as soon as you found out about her you came running," she suggested plainly as if it were so simple.

"Then I'm basically telling her that her mom didn't try to find me, which could come off as me badmouthing Astra in front of her. It feels petty."

"And Astra isn't being petty by refusing to even stand in the same room with you when you rushed to their aid the moment you found out about the daughter she hid from you for eight Goddess damned years?" Sharimara asked pointedly. The warden came out again along with the defensiveness of her family. Despite Sharimara's frequent censuring of Navarion's illicit behavior, he could tell that her anger toward Astariel was even greater.

Sighing and shrugging, he tried to find an excuse; it didn't seem right to blame Astariel after the way he'd watched her get attached to him only to leave her unceremoniously all those years ago. "Astra was hurt, and afraid of the responsibility. She worked hard to be independent and I'm sure that even accepting our help had damaged her pride a little bit."

"Screw her pride, she had a kid to take care of and that kids is also ours. Did you ever tell her about mom and dad back during the campaign?"

"Yes, I...well, Astra told me she wanted to meet mom one day. There are probably less than a hundred night elves left in the world who are as old as mom. I agreed, but I didn't specify that I'd be introducing Astra to them as a friend and nothing more." His mood became a bit more somber as he realized he'd exposed one of his many transgressions. "She had the impression that she and I would be together, and I knew it but didn't do anything to negate that impression of hers."

Licking her teeth inside her mouth, Sharimara hardened a little bit as she considered it. "That was wrong and unfair of you to do, but it doesn't change the fact that she knew Zelda has grandparents who are past their twilight years. Even if you did her wrong, and you do owe her a ton of apologies and more, but mom and dad still have rights as grandparents. You were wrong to let her get the wrong idea, she was wrong to deny mom and dad the right to see Zelda all because of your idiotic mistake," she said firmly, regaining a bit of that iron in her voice.

"I suppose so...but she's suffered. And she's the mother of my child. I don't want there to be any bad blood between us, especially for Zelda's sake." Pausing and growing a bit shy, he hunched over and out his elbows on his knees. "What is she like?"

Grinning again, Sharimara looking every bit as happy when their other nieces and nephews were born. "She's lovely. So lovely. Astra dresses her well even though they don't have much. She's wearing a long white robe beneath a long, light brown vest, similar to mom's illustrations of night elf clothing just before the War of the Ancients started. She doesn't look everywhere or get distracted like other seven year olds. And she asked one of the deckhands whether the ship was steam powered or used crystallic fusion." This time Sharimara smiled to herself, talking as if she were alone in the room. "She's...just great. She's really done well despite her situation."

"What does she look like?" He closed his eyes after he asked, garnering a gut laugh from Sharimara.

"She's yours. I didn't get a chance to meet Astra yet - I'm not sure I really want to - so I can't compare there. But I saw you. She's mostly Kaldorei but she had that sharp nose you, Issa and Zengu have. She also has Hearthglen hips like me and Issa - that's from you. She has hair instead of a mane but I noticed that is grows part way down the back of her neck; that's you."

"What's her hair like?" he asked while trying to build a mental image.

"Amethyst. Like a really deep, dark amethyst that traps light. It's silky like elf hair but it grows in thick like a troll mane. Her skin is mom's - the exact same shade of mauve, one hundred percent like mom's. She'll be thrilled."

At that comment, much of the positivity that Navarion had slowly been building up crumbled down. "Shari...how can I explain this to mom and dad?" he asked, legitimately at a loss.

An uncomfortable stillness settled over the two of them as they sat on their bunks, their bare feet in between the two beds of the cramped cabin. There wasn't room for anything other than the two of them and the apprehension that brother had shared with sister.

"I'm sorry...I don't know. I just don't know. Honestly, I think dad will be mad that you behaved irresponsibly, but it's in the past and he'll get over it in ten minutes like he always does. But mom..." Sharimara's voice trailed off ominously, though it wasn't intentional. And that made it even scarier. "Mom buries her head in the sand, let's face it. We're always her babies and I'm pretty sure dad never told her about a lot of the trouble you got into. She doesn't know how wild you used to be, so she won't know that you've improved."

"She'll feel shocked. I'm sure she'll be as clingy with Zelda as with the rest of us, but I have a feeling that she'll feel disappointed. And for that, I really have no idea what to tell her."

Blank and at just as much of a loss, Sharimara stared at the wall for a moment. Though she didn't appear distant, she was certainly in deep thought and trying her best to search for an answer.

"I don't think we'll be able to find a solution right here, right now. We still have more time before we arrive. Dinner is coming soon; we may as well just eat and then sleep on it," she replied, more or less admitting the loss for an answer felt by both of them.

Worried and anxious, Navarion only slipped his shoes on. Unsatisfied by his sister's solution but possessing no solution of his own, he sighed deeply and stood up to follow her. At least the meal might take his mind off of the emotions swirling around inside of him, each attempt at answering all the questions only confusing him even more. The noise and movement in the canteen would, hopefully, provide a much needed distraction.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Dinner for them meant breakfast for the diurnal goblins and the other passengers. A hearty supper of bacon, eggs and cabbage distracted him only until they returned to their cabin and his head hit the pillow. During what little sleep he had, the darkness surrounded him once more, two shining stars the only sign of anything other than his own consciousness. An amethyst reflected the silver light back at him holding his attention from all save the scent of thistles in the spring.


	14. Back to Ratchet

The second bell rang out to signal that the ship's off ramp had been set up. Most of the passengers were already at the top deck, ready to disembark and leave Ratchet via a ground route or to switch ships for their next destination. Navarion and Sharimara stood off to the side, waiting for the crowd to dissipate before shouldering their travel bags. Turning back again, he tried to look at the steps leading up from the lower decks where Valmar was waiting with Astariel and Zelda. So resistant was the girl's mother to sharing space next to her father that she didn't even wait at the top deck as most other passengers did.

Sharimara noticed the direction of his gaze and guided him to look back at her. "Don't," she warned him.

"I know...just forgot for a minute is all," he sighed while turning back toward their hometown.

More people filtered off of the boat, walking across the pier to go about their business in town, move to another pier to transition to different ships, or met friends and loved ones at the end of the docks. Even though it was just midway through the morning and far later than any of them would have liked to be awake, the sun's rays still weren't quite enough to blot out the shock of jade colored hair waiting for them at the very end of the pier past the ticket booth, alongside other locals awaiting other passengers. Anathil was waiting for them at just the right place, at just the right time, and yet none of the trio had contacted anybody back home before their return voyage.

Navarion scanned the rest of the docks cautiously. "Shari...how does Thanil know to wait for us at this time?" he asked, almost rhetorically.

A similar sense of foreboding settled in over the youngest sister as well, who was also scanning the crowd for anybody else. "I...I really can't even guess. I don't see Del or auntie here, either. It can't just be chance." She paused for a moment even though most of the other passengers had already disembarked. "She has to have learned from one of the two, yet neither of them would willingly spill the beans. I really can't imagine how she would know we'd be here. Come to think of it, not even Del or auntie would know; Valmar would have warned us if he'd written to the family in advance."

Just then, the Forsaken approached them from below the deck and noticed Anathil as well. "Miss Astariel is still a bit jittery and nervous about finally meeting Cecilia, which she has correctly deduced is inevitable; she insists that the two of you walk out front and that you don't look at or talk to her," he explained while tapping Navarion on the arm.

"She's being ridiculous," Sharimara muttered uner her breath. "They're freaking adults, just get over it and act normal."

"Of course, don't worry about it. But we do have something else to worry about; Valmar, do you have any idea why Thanil is here?"

Cupping one of his gloved hands over the eyeholes in his mask as a visor, Valmar scanned the crowd for anyone else as well. "There are so few ships directly from New Nendis that - if the family had known we were in New Nendis - they would know approximately when we would return. How they know is another story. As far as I know, not even Irien and Tiondel knew we were in Azshara; we only told them that we were going to the Port of Winterspring."

"Last call!" a goblin deckhand cried out from atop one of the smoke stacks in an unusually loud voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Navarion noticed a figure wearing a light purple cloak around her body and a matching sheila loosely wrapped around her head, neck and most of her face, concealing everything from the eyes down and the eyebrows up. A similarly dressed young girl, over four feet tall and wearing a matching outfit, stood next to her. Before he could even react Sharimara grabbed his arm and moved even more closely next to him, blocking his view.

"Don't freak her out; if she wants to act like this, let her act like it for a while, at least until she's settled."

"I can't leave her to carry four bags all by herself," Navarion retorted while motioning with his shoulder back to where he'd seen the four large pieces of luggage containing everything the mother and daughter owned.

Pursing her lips, Sharimara exuded both frustration and understanding. Before the deckhand could call out again, Valmar stepped back toward the mother and daughter and, after a few seconds of hushed conversation, returned with their bags.

"You take two, your sister and I will each take one." The undead then ushered the two siblings down the ramp onto the pier, ahead of the cloaked mother and daughter and through the gradually dispersing crowd of travelers, dock workers and shipwrights going about their business.

Anathil remained just beyond the ticket booth, having spotted them early on. Just as tired looking as them, she seemed pleasant but obviously troubled. The way she looked back at Astariel and Zelda without any sense of shock spoke volumes.

Sharimara stepped forward first, hugging her oldest sister tightly as if they hadn't seen each other in months rather than a week and a half. After greeting the others, the oldest sister folded her hands in front of her and stepped back.

"You never told us," she said to Navarion plainly, not angry but certainly not happy either.

"Her mother never told me," he replied in Zandali so as not to be overheard.

For a moment Anathil just stared at him, a range of very subtle but still detectable emotions written into her expression. Seizing the opportunity, Valmar stepped forward as if to imply he would continue walking.

"Is Khujand in his spot?" the deadman asked the oldest sister.

"Yeah. Overlooking the beach, like always in the mornings; we all just stayed up extra late this time."

"I need to talk to him before anyone else does." Without even waiting for a response, Valmar hurried back to Astariel and engaged in more hushed conversation. One second more and he was off, walking at a rather brisk pace toward the winding streets that led up to the bluffs overlooking the city. Astariel and Zelda remained put, and while the spirits spoke to Navarion of the mother's nervousness, he could also sense that she was doing a good job of handling it.

"Thanil...how did you know to be here?" Sharimara asked. She legitimately wanted to know, but her brother also recognized the stalling tactic to allow Valmar to speak to their father about the arrangements first.

After trying to get a better look at Astariel - who hung back with Zelda rather than approaching the group - Anathil realized the question had been addressed to her. "You know how mom is," she replied ominously. "Eventually, she squeezed it out of Irien and then she interrogated Del, too. She's had about a whole week to get over it and dad has calmed her down a lot, but she isn't happy. She was livid that she has a sixth granddaughter out there and you all knew for a month and didn't tell her."

"What were we supposed to do?" Navarion retorted defensively, switching the conversation to Zandali again. "We didn't know where exactly they were, how we would find them and whether or not her mom would even let me see her!"

"I'm not the one you need to tell that to," Anathil answered coolly.

"What would the point have been in getting her hopes and fears raised when we didn't even know how this would work out!"

"You're talking to the wrong person," Anathil answered again.

Before he could open his mouth, Sharimara cut him off. "How much do mom and dad know?"

"Everything. They know everything. Mom pushed and pushed and squeezed Irien until she opened up about everything." A wry grin spread on the oldest sister's face if only for a second. "Auntie is much less commanding when mom corners her in private."

"That's...ha, yes, I'm sure. But how did you know to meet us here? How did you know to be here on this specific day?" the youngest sister asked again.

Inspecting the veiled mother and daughter behind the group one more time, Anathil eventually turned back to her two siblings. "Shari...mom and dad facilitated the Sentinels opening up a covert consulate here in Ratchet back before they even declared their independence from the Alliance. They're eternally grateful for that and for all the history mom has witnessed firsthand. Most night elves in the region have heard of her, even if they don't know all the details of our family. She has eyes and ears everywhere." Anathil leaned a little bit closer, almost amused by her two younger siblings despite the seriousness of the situation. "Did you really think you guys could go across two separate Sentinel cities, busy and active ones at that, ask around both places and not get noticed?"

Sharimara only nodded her affirmation, remaining quiet and giving Navarion the opportunity to butt in nervously again. "Astra came with us on the understanding that mom and dad will pay for her housing and Zelda's education, and I'll get a job to give them spending money. Astra is a cook and she'll look for work to do while Zelda is at school, and the girl stays with our family in the weekends. That's what Valmar told her, and I'm guessing that's what he's going to tell mom and dad now - before Astra talks to them and finds out they didn't technically agree yet."

"They're going to agree, especially if Valmar put them in a situation like that," Anathil interrupted him. Her tone was uncharacteristically brusque, as if she were a bit resentful toward having been kept in the dark as well.

"The point is, Astra thinks this has already been worked out prior to us finding her and we need things to stay that way. So what's the plan?"

Looking at him blankly for a moment, Anathil seemed to mull things over in her head. She was usually the cheeriest of the six siblings, but this time she looked rather serious. "The more time we spend standing here talking in a language she doesn't understand, the more suspicious she'll become. Valmar can haul ass if he wants to do he has a good head start on us; let's just start walking now and go slowly with all the bags." Without even waiting for his confirmation, Anathil grabbed the smallest bag (she was the smallest of the six Hearthglen siblings) and walked back past her two larger siblings for a moment. "It's getting late, and our parents will expect to meet their granddaughter while one of us arranges your housing for you," she told Astariel.

Similarly, she didn't wait for a response and walked right up to Zelda, giving the single mother no time to protest. More hushed conversation in Darnassian took place as Anathil knelt down before the girl to speak to her at eye level. He didn't turn around and couldn't hear what was being said exactly, but for the first time he was able to hear his daughter's voice. Soft like wind chimes, just like his mother Cecilia's voice when he was a child, Zelda spoke politely and even seemed elated to meet another aunt. The spirits told him of Astariel's standoffish irritation, but she didn't move and made no attempt to prevent Anathil from introducing herself to Zelda and even giving the girl a one armed hug. After getting to know the girl briefly, the oldest sibling even greeted Astariel and then turned to lead the others.

"Let's get going."

The three Hearthglens all walked in a row, chatting lightly about recent news in the town in Common. That his sisters kept trying to get him involved in the conversation implied that the knew of his apprehension now that he would have to face their parents, and they were obviously trying to help him relax. It didn't work one bit, and he spent most of the walk there grunting and trying to avoid their attempts while also fighting the urge to look back at Zelda; Astariel was calm for the most part but somehow, he knew that if he tried to approach them just yet she might flip out and make a scene. Mustering a patience he never knew he had, he bided his time until he'd eventually be able to see the girl like Astariel had promised via Valmar.

By the time they reached the upper bluffs overlooking Ratchet and passed the higher flight point and two other estates next to theirs, the deadman himself was already exiting the front gates. Since Khujand was standing at his spot at the edge of the bluff, overlooking the beach, Navarion quickly deduced that the Forsaken likely spoke to his father first and had just finished speaking to his mother second. Khujand continued looking over the beach, his arms folded behind his back and the mood of the much more powerful shadow hunter unreadable to the oldest son. Before any of them could make a move, Valmar quickly hurried over to the three siblings.

"Irien's half of the duplex your family normally rents out is vacant; Miss Astariel and Zelda will stay there," he whispered in a voice so low that only the three could hear him. "I'll wait here and guide the two of them there once your parents are done meeting them. Navarion, do not communicate with either of them directly yet. I informed your mother that you'll get to see your daughter in the near future but not today, and she understands. I've done all I can."

"We'll never be able to thank you enough," Sharimara whispered back.

"You all thank me too much. Now, go. Khujand will want a word with Zelda first, and then with Navarion in private." The Forsaken immediately went to Astariel and presumably told her that this was the grandfather of her child, and Navarion's sisters pulled him over toward the outer wall of their estate to grant her wide berth.

Nervous but clearly accepting, Astariel took Zelda by the hand and followed Valmar over to the ageing jungle troll. For much of his life, Khujand had upright posture due to a history of manual labor, but in his old age he'd started to slouch just a little. His movements were still sharp and alert, however, and when he first turned around Astariel paused for a few seconds. Zelda, however, seemed undaunted and walked right up to her grandfather, behaving like a little lady and offering her hand without the hesitation and standoffishness of her mother.

Khujand's face lit up with a light that almost made Navarion jealous; he was far from a disciplinarian in his parenting style but he was definitely softer with his grandchildren than his children. Kneeling down as Anathil had done, he shook the girl's hand and ruffled the top of her headscarf, ignoring the fact that Astariel tensed up. A few minutes of conversation even resulted in the girl giving him a hug, at which point Sharimara turned Navarion's chin back to her.

"You're staring. Stop staring." He sighed at her comment but relented, knowing she was probably right. The familiar sound of Astariel's voice could then be heard, though her own exchange with Khujand was much briefer.

Valmar passed the group again, leading Astariel and Zelda inside the front gate and motioning for Anathil and Sharimara to follow. Sharimara took the bags Navarion had been carrying and walked inside, leaving him alone outside with his father. For a brief second, he caught a glimpse of Hyptu - Anathil's second son who was the exact same age as Zelda - holding a wrapped gift for her in the courtyard, alongside his brother Venjai, their father Tan'jin as well as Tiondel. Irien and Cecilia were nowhere to be seen and likely inside, and the conversation inside gave him the time he needed to face his father.

Walking over and standing next to the old troll, Navarion kept his breathing in check and tried to brace himself despite the fact that, as the parent who had always suffered form the bad habit of indulging his children too much, Khujand would probably be much easier to talk to than Cecilia.

He didn't wait long before addressing Navarion while still watching the beach below with sleepy eyes. "Explain this ta me, son," he requested softly. There was no anger in his voice, which made Navarion feel even worse, in a way; had his father just yelled at him, it would have been a simple matter of letting the senior shadow hunter vent. Having to actually answer for the whole ordeal was much more difficult.

Sighing, Navarion tried to find the right words. "Astra never told me, nor did she try to contact me. If I had known, I would have done everything to be a part of my daughter's life," he breathed out, finding his own voice laced with more emotion than he had expected when thinking over the explanation in his head.

"She's an ex girlfriend of ya's?"

"More of a very close friend. We were together one time...I was in a very dark place at that time," Navarion tried to explain, realizing that nobody aside from Valmar and Zorena knew about his relationship with Zhenya and what had come of that. "I was distraught and we split up because of my problems. She took it hard, which was mostly my fault."

Pausing and humming to himself, Khujand gave no indication of what he was thinking or feeling other than what he told his oldest son directly. "And ya knew about this a whole month ago? Ya, Shari, Del, tha whole lotta ya?"

"Yes sir. We didn't want to tell you unless we were sure we could find her. We thought it would hurt you needlessly if we told you but then never located them."

"Hmm..." Khujand hummed. Pondering it for another moment, he didn't turn to look at his son but leaned in his direction. "Ya mama is about as calm as she's gonna get, all things considered. Go inside and see her when she's done with ya baby mama. We'll do most of tha plannin' and catchin' up tamarrow."

Saying no more, Khujand indicated that their short and surprisingly easy exchange was over; a mercy, perhaps, in light of how Cecilia might react. Taking his leave, Navarion walked into the family's courtyard to find Valmar explaining the details to Tiondel, Anathil, Tan'jin and Venjai. His brother in law broke off from the conversation to intercept him.

"Shari, Irien and Hyptu took Zelda out back to show her the sprite darters," Tan'jin explained without even being asked. There was a look of judgmentalism in the Druid's eyes, though Navarion could tell that he was trying to hide it. "The girl's mother is inside talking to Cecilia."

"Thanks...just a minute," Navarion replied while passing them to sit on the front porch. The family den was just inside, and through the window he could spy in the conversation. In tandem with his listening to the spirit world, he had a relatively accurate picture of what was going on inside.

Night elves were a culture that greatly respected age. Once immortal, most of those who had been born before the War of the Ancients had already died of old age, leaving just a handful like Cecilia to be so revered and respected. Their knowledge of the world and how it had been formed was vast, based on firsthand experience and being eyewitnesses. Faced with such a being, and also knowing that Cecilia was the mother of a man whom she had hid knowledge of their daughter from, Astariel stood almost petrified in fear. She was practically shaking, afraid that Cecilia might lash out, blame her for having become pregnant in the first place or accused her of failing as a mother. The sense of Astariel's pain that the spirits spoke of hurt him; even if she wanted nothing to do with him, his memories of her were fond of painful and he didn't wish that on her.

Yet Cecilia did none of those things. Even without looking, Navarion's sixth sense revealed to him an almost bemused look on his mother's face at the relatively young woman's fear.

"Don't be scared," he heard his mother tell Astariel from the other side of the curtains covering the window.

Still shaking, Astariel inched toward Cecilia's outstretched hands. His mother took the young woman's palms and began looking them over, accidentally causing Astariel even more stress as she wondered what Zelda's grandmother was doing. "I'm sure your father was a Druid, like most of our men; your mother was only a warrior of the night part time, I take it? You have the hands of a horticulturist."

Taken aback, Astariel loosened up somewhat upon hearing the insight. "Y-yes...my mother cultivated the acorn orchard that was used to produce ground meal for bread in Old Nendis." She visibly gulped, still afraid of the potential wrath of an ancient Kaldorei woman.

"Hmm...a humble profession, but noble. We relied on the domestic workers as much as those of us who fought back then," Cecilia hummed happily, never growing tired of reminiscing on her vast amount of memories. "I am to understand that you'll be relocating here in Ratchet?"

"Yes! Yes, I promise! Mister Valmar explained to me that you want Zelda in your family life...it's your right."

"That it is," Cecilia replied dryly, scaring Astariel a little more despite the calmness in her voice. Knowing his mother, Navarion surmised may have been partly intentional; as a former warrior of the night, she was used to the idea of respect emanating partially from fear, and likely wanted to make sure that her sixth grandchild would be living near her for good.

"I, I, I, I'm going to find work. I was trained at the best fusion restaurant in Feralas, and I'm quite versatile. I won't be a burden on anyone-"

"Family is never a burden," Cecilia insisted, cutting her off. "And Zelda is a part of my family. You aren't, but you're her mother; we won't ever mind extending help to get you back on your feet in order to better provide for my granddaughter's future," the ancient sentinel said bluntly. "And don't worry about my son. You are under no obligation to deal with anyone if you don't want to. He has the right to see his daughter eventually, once you both settle in, but you never have to see him at all. Consider yourself free here."

Unsure of how to respond without insulting the woman's son, Astariel paused and stuttered a few times as she tried to find the right words. "Thank you...thank you so, so much. Zelda has ever had other family members before."

"We'll have plenty of time to get to know her now that you're settled down into Ratchet, and I trust that you're staying here for good." Cecilia's tone of voice became a little harder, but once she simply started agreeing to everything Zelda's grandmother demanded, Astariel began to relax even more.

"Yes, for good."

"I'm glad we both understand how things will be, then." Footsteps rang out as Navarion sensed his mother pulling Astariel over to the hallway. "Please take a look in the backyard for a few minutes. I need to talk to my son, but any time you feel ready, Valmar and Irien can show you to your new home."

"Of course, absolutely!" Astariel agreed readily, obviously thankful that she'd come out of the conversation in once piece. Her footsteps echoed down the hallway as she made her way toward the back porch and out of the house, leaving Cecilia alone in the family den.

Seeing no reason to delay the inevitable, Navarion walked into the anteroom that was mostly full of shoes, coats and hats. Sharp as ever, his mother noticed him there even more he swept aside the curtain of Darkspear style beads functioning as an entrance flap to the den.

"Son."

He entered, finding her standing in the middle of the room with her hands folded in front of her. She wore a long nightgown and a bathrobe, obviously as tired as everyone else in the nocturnal family. She didn't look at him when he entered, already setting him on edge.

Her family was her life. After ten millennia of servitude to nature, her wait had ended a few decades ago, leaving her and all other night elves free to live out their remaining years as they saw fit. Cecilia had chosen to use those years to raise a family, and both she and Khujand hung up their weapons for good just before Navarion had been born. She was clingy, a bit overbearing but very caring in her own, authoritarian way. Prideful and doting, the fact that she'd survived so long and finally managed to leave her mark on the world meant more to her than all the wars she'd fought in. That pride, however, came with the price of control: her experience was so vast that she had a tendency to micromanage the rest of the family's affairs, feeling that she always knew what was best. And now, he had to stand before her and admit that he'd hid extremely significant information from her - information about the sixth grandchild she never knew of.

She didn't shout or use harsh wording. She didn't have to. Nobody could lay on a guilt trip like a night elf mother, and her downcast eyes paralyzed him and robbed his throat of its ability to produce sound.

She inhaled and then exhaled deeply, causing every hair follicle on the back of his neck to stand up. "I just want to know one thing," Cecilia started, her voice low key and subdued in a way that worried him.

Nodding, he eventually managed to force out a simple "yes" in response to her somber words, frozen and unable to say anything more. Her disappointment overwhelmed him as much as the knowledge of his own fatherhood had a month ago, and he found himself as nervous as Astariel had been just a few moments before.

"Had you failed in trying to find Zelda...would you have hidden the fact that I have another grandchild from me?"

Navarion opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and a dry scratch stung his throat. The taste of bile wafted up and he coughed and choked as he suppressed it, feeling the burn in a way that made his eyes water.

The sound of many footsteps sounded off in the hallway, and he sensed that everyone from the back porch was leading Astariel and Zelda to the half of the duplex they'd be staying at. They all gave the mother and son privacy, and nobody even tried to look in between the curtain of beads as they all passed through the front door and then out the gate of the estate. Their voices trailed off as Navarion found himself alone with his mother again, yet the short interlude hadn't been enough for him to formulate any semblance of a response.

Her silence hit him harder than any sort of scolding or lecture could, and her refusal to meet his eyes made him feel like he was only three inches tall. When she felt her point had been made, she continued.

"Our family has a new member, and we will cherish this child as much as we do the rest of you. Her education and housing will always be taken care of, no matter what, but you're going to change. You're a father now. You must start to act like one."

"I will," he huffed, looking at his shoes and wishing he could turn invisible.

"You will find regular work, even if we're supporting Zelda, even if a regular job pays less than questing. This girl needs you in her life and you need to act responsible."

"I will."

"And you are not to talk to or approach this Astariel woman. She isn't a part of our family, but she is Zelda's mother and you've obviously damaged this woman enough. Leave her alone to her own devices, and focus on being there for your daughter when she comes to visit."

"I promise, mom."

They both fell quiet for another moment as Cecilia looked him over. She didn't hug him like she normally would in times of crisis, but there was no bitterness in her tone. "It's late, and we'll all have time to sort out a visitation schedule and help Zelda acclimate to her new life over the next few days. Irien will coordinate with Astariel in order to find out when you'll meet your daughter, but I can tell you now that it will be here at this house, and it will be limited until you can prove that you won't be a negative influence on her life. Is that understood?"

"Yes, mom," he sighed, floored by only a few short minutes of conversation but also relieved that she'd let him off easy - she had the power to lay on him a guilt trip ten times as strong and she knew it.

Stern and upset but not quite angry still, Cecilia walked by and took him by the arm toward the stairs. "Go straight to bed, rest and get cleaned up tomorrow morning. Focus on yourself and we'll handle the rest. Your sisters and brother will be up to sleep shortly - your father and I have a few things to discuss."

Not another word and Navarion found himself already ascending the staircase as his mother walked out onto the front porch. Exposed for his past irresponsible behavior and his present inability to lead a stable life, he found no will to speak to anyone else and would probably still feel the same way tomorrow and the day after. Hiding under the covers and pretending to be asleep, he listened as eventually Tiondel, Venjai and Hyptu entered the bedroom they all happened to be sharing at the time. Sleep overtook them quickly, but for the longest time Navarion found himself staring at the ceiling, fighting to ignore the dryness of his mouth as he tried in vain to think of what on Azeroth he'd even say to his daughter when he finally did meet her.


	15. The Meeting

"Move, damn you!"

The raptor screeched, startled by the angry half night elf, half jungle troll trying to shove it headfirst into the stable pen. Despite its talons and teeth and the fact that Navarion was unarmed, the mount cowered away from him, too afraid to fight back.

Nearly slipping in the dirt and hay on the floor of the stable, Navarion let out a string of irate curses. Losing his patience, he wrapped his arms around the raptor's knees and literally lifted the mount up off the ground, carrying it into the pen and letting it plop down onto a thick pile of hay. Unhurt but startled, the reptile stayed down, realizing that the disgruntled stablehand had only wanted it to enter the pen.

Thunderhorn, the ageing tauren stablemaster at one of Ratchet's three competing stables shook his head. "You can't keep forcing them like that," the furry bull man said slowly in his heavily accented, not entirely fluent Common. "Eventually, one of them will get hurt and you'll have to compensate either their owner, or me."

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Navarion closed the door to the pen and grit his teeth. Thunderhorn hadn't said anything wrong, and truth be told he was doing Khujand a favor by giving the oldest Hearthglen son a temporary job yet again. Navarion had worked for Thuunderhorn a full twenty three years before, and proved to be unfocused and unreliable on the job. That Thunderhorn had allowed him to work again, even on a temporary basis while he searched for a stable, long term job, displayed a great deal of trust. Rationalizing his irritation as stemming from his stress over his lifestyle change and his painful sobriety, he forced himself not to react to his temporary boss stupidly.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled without meeting the tauren's eyes. "I know that isn't a proper way to coax mount animals. It won't happen again."

Nodding firmly but watching the temporary hire nonetheless, Thunderhorn leaned onto the railing of an empty pen as Navarion led the last raptor back in by the muzzle for the night. Since the insomniac gnome who normally worked the night shift managing the stables was on his biannual vacation, the presence of the nocturnal shadow hunter had worked out rather well for the patient, black furred tauren with mottled specks of grey. The second raptor still resisted the obviously irate new stablehand, but with a little patience and petting it eventually followed him into the pen and lied down on the soft hay, making its little nest for the night.

The moon had just risen, and all the mounts has officially been rounded up. The herbivorus ones such as the elekk and hawk strider were left to graze during the daylight hours while the carnivorous ones like the raptors were left to hunt varmints and squirrels. Once darkness had fallen, all those diurnal mounts had to be corralled once again and it became the nightsabres' turn to forage for gophers and voles, though the number of the big cats was less due to their being fewer travelers showing up during the night shift.

Normally it was considered a simple if physically demanded job, but for the last week he'd been there, he'd had a tough time due to his own irritation. The animals picked up on his foul mood, which would normally result in him being kicked or scratched. Faced by a disgruntled, eight foot tall voodoo warrior, however, the mount animals all freaked out instead, often crying out to Thunderhorn as the impatient newcomer manhandled them into their pens. Just one more week, he told himself, and he wouldn't have to shovel manure or de-louse anyone else's animals again; just the sprite darters his family raised, which were much, much more compliant and didn't possess the bad odors of the non-magical creatures.

The last of the diurnal animals penned, Thunderhorn grunted his approval and clopped over toward the front double doors of the stables. "I trust you'll have an easier time releasing the sabres into the pasture. My sons will be here in ten hours to relieve you of your shift. You know what to do." The drowsy tauren promptly left to his farmhouse next to the stables, leaving Navarion alone with the animals and his own thoughts once again.

Releasing the two nightsabres was a simple task; the big cats were wide awake and itching to get some fresh air. Thunderhorn intentionally raised gophers and other mammalian pests only to release them into his pastureland between his house and the stables, providing the mounts with activity and light snacks in between actual meals. Leaving them to their own devices, whoever was on duty merely had to remember meal times and handle any travelers that either wanted to check their mounts in or rent one out. As primitive as Azeroth was - most of the planet's population was illiterate, lived on rented land and had never seen running water or steam technology - one industry that was advanced and thriving everywhere was that of mounts. Schedules were well known, procedures were standard internationally, riding was a common skill and there was never any shortage of travelers in such a mobile global society. Work was efficient and respected, though the night shift often meant a much lower volume of customers, and thus more down time. Usually that was enviable due to the amount of reading, hobbying and other projects one could complete. For the strung out new father, however, it was torture.

For a whole week, he hadn't been able to see his daughter. From the very next day after Astariel and Zelda had arrived, Khujand had sent him to work with Thunderhorn, an old friend of his father's from a war campaign in an alternate dimension or timeline or however that worked out almost fifty years ago. During the two week stint, he was to spend his free time looking for more permanent work on his own. In the meantime, the family had enrolled Zelda in a part time evening school that all the Hearthglen siblings had attended; she'd have to wake up in the late afternoon which was considered early for someone on a nocturnal schedule, but the girl had taken it in a stride and spent the week studying catchup material so she'd be ready when her first day did eventually come. Astariel had spent a few days getting to know the city and the different neighborhoods, and after three job interviews and two offers, chose a seafood restaurant that offered a lower salary but allowed her to prepare a wider range of dishes - a choice she could make since Navarion's family had provided housing and schooling.

Seeing as how he was living at home again, Navarion had surrendered all his wages from his temporary job to Astariel through his mother save just enough for the occasional card game and refreshments at one of the multiple snack bars in the poor quarter. Each time would supposedly be the last, but given the dry itch at the back of his throat that had slowly turned into a burn, he had little else to help him relieve stress.

The two nightsabres barreled out onto the pastureland, one of the few open spaces within Ratchet city limits that was undeveloped. It wasn't as large as Thunderhorn had wanted for the number of mounts he housed, but it was better than keeping them penned up all the time. The large cats leapt on one another and on a few moles as they expent a great deal of their energy early on. Being in a cage all the time reminded Navarion of how he'd felt about eight years ago, when he'd returned to his hometown for good after the anti-silithid campaign. It was maddening at first, living in the same place he'd grown up in after having been on the move for so long. The Crossroads proved to be his only semblance of an escape, but his family was known there and he ended up in a few embarrassing situations his siblings had to save him from at first. Eventually, drink and the occasional bounty quest satiated what little desire he had left, and his contribution to Sharimara's training provided ample cover for his behavior when away from home.

And so he remained, forcibly forgetting all his hurt and refusing to cope with his problems. Mementos he'd kept from relationships past, even from Zhenya, were stuffed in a box he hid behind a carton of old newsletters in a closet in the basement, and the single night he'd spent with Astariel was rationalized away as mostly having been a delusion of grandeur on his part. At the end of those eight years, he found himself an aimless, unsuccessful sellsword who slept ten hours a day and who had the exact same emotional issues he had when he'd first arrived. He hadn't dealt with his internal problems, and found the wounds fresh and waiting for him now that he had to stop pretending to care about nothing and act like a grown man.

The nightsabres wore themselves out after a few hours and retreated to the water trough, drinking their fill and then lounging on the grass for a while. The job was easy in relation to the pay, but monotonous. Other stablehands often wrote novels, taught themselves new professions or indulged in other hobbies. All Navarion had to do was think about where his life had led him, and what he'd done with the fortunate upbringing he'd been blessed with, which wasn't a whole lot. Had he been dealt the hand of cards his own daughter had, he probably would have ended up in jail before reaching manhood, or just turned into a beggar on the streets. To be charged with the care of a child smarter and more mature than he was felt daunting, yet he had no choice but; there was no room for error. More than the piracy and slavery rings he'd busted, more than the tower of forty thieves he'd brought down, more than the silithids he'd exterminated, more than any amounts of bandits, brigands and barbarians he'd out down, the task laying before him was of the utmost imports fell: he had to raise a child, another living being. And that, more than any of his earlier exploits, intimidated him to no end.

The arrival of two midnight messengers on their way to New Taurajo provided a brief interlude as he offered the couriers some bread and water and shared news about the region. Par the course as he'd found, and after spending less than an hour's rest, they rented both nightsabres and left him one frostsabre and a very tired looking timber wolf before leaving. Perhaps that's what his life was supposed to be. He'd spent a good quarter of a century traveling the world with or without the blessing of his family, engaging in adventures and exploits many people wouldn't see in a quarter of a millennium. He'd had his taste of glory; perhaps it was time to let others handle saving the world and be the sedentary townie greeting wary travelers and passing along stories before sending them on their way. It was quaint but perhaps romantic in a rustic sort of way. Perhaps if he could adjust to that mindset, he'd find settling into the life of a mature, responsible adult a bit easier.

As the hours dragged on, he tried to calm himself down regarding the inevitable meeting. Zelda would begin school the day after tomorrow, leaving this night and very early morning as the first weekend in which he'd see her. She wouldn't sleep at the Hearthglen household yet - his mother Cecilia and sister Anathil felt she girl had been through enough transition lately and could do with a little consistency - but she would remain at the house for a few hours and get to stay up late before going back to the duplex so she and her mother could get some rest. This was it - what he'd been waiting for. He'd finally get to meet his own daughter. Literally the entire household plus Valmar had already met the girl; and there he was, her father, and both schedules and close monitoring by his family had kept him apart from her for an entire week.

He wondered if Zelda would find that strange. Sharimara had told him that the girl wanted to meet him, yet when they brought her to the house that first day they'd arrived, she hadn't even tried to pull away from her mother to greet him. Maybe she really was such an obedient child that she wouldn't risk angering Astariel. Or maybe Zelda herself was a bit shy and overwhelmed by all the new people. He hoped that she didn't feel unwelcome...he hoped and wondered about a hundred and one things that night, and none of his pondering brought him any closer to knowing how he would actually feel when he finally did get to meet her in a few hours.

On and on through the night, Navarion covered sheets and sheets of lain paper from front to back practicing what he would say, thinking of possible questions his daughter might ask and how he would deal with them. At no point in his life had he ever been one to over analyze social situations or to overthink how other people might view him, yet on that most pivotal of nights he almost found himself channeling his father Khujand. It was a completely foreign and alien sensation, to feel like he didn't know how to act. No experience in his life prior to this had prepared him.

His sister Anathil had been the first to marry, and she and Tan'jin had given the Hearthglens the first grandchild in the family, Venjai. Everyone had doted on the boy and even Navarion had taken his turn holding the infant in his arms, but the bond was different. It wasn't his child and he could feel that. He was grossed out by Venjai's bodily fluids and refused to change the boy's diapers, leaving Tan'jin to handle the less pleasant parts of raising the child. His brother Zengu had been next and Thandra, Zengu's wife, had given birth to twin girls; ironic considering that Zengu and Issinia were twins. Issinia and her husband Narrus had a daughter, but not before Anathil gave birth to Hyptu. Navarion had helped communally raise five nieces and nephews, but an uncle was not a father; of that, he was very sure.

By the time he ran out of paper and had filled pages with bad ideas and things he thought twice about saying, Thunderhorn's two sons arrived. Dawn was rapidly approaching and although they were on time, there would be precious few hours left to actually see his daughter. Chatting with them about empty topics for only a few minutes, Navarion quickly clocked out and left, hurrying through the city and jumping over the shorter denizens who were on their way to early shifts at the city's various goblin factories and workshops.

Halfway there, he passed by the only pawnshop that was open in the wee hours of the morning. The door revealed numerous shiny objects, some of them rather new looking, and Navarion considered his time. If he could cinch a deal, it would be a great impression for his first visitation; given the less fortunate upbringing Zelda had endured with her mother and Zorena, she probably had fewer material possessions than the other Hearthglen grandchildren. For all he knew, that may have meant that she simply valued material things less, but the thought of showing up empty handed for a family reunion delayed by seven years made him cringe.

The moment he stepped inside, a goblin attendant who had been polishing an ornate full body mirror hopped over to him. A draenei behind the cash register very unsubtly kept one hand rested on a blunderbuss, obviously in warning to any potential thieves.

"Welcome to Dawn's Pawns, friend! Anything in particular catch your eye?" the short attendant asked while almost tripping over his own untied shoelaces.

The place was full of random assortments of both antique and modern items, with no real organization to the displays. "I need something for a seven year old girl," Navarion mumbled absentmindedly while inspecting a glowing lamp filled with what looked like cold lava.

"Well, have I got just the deal for you!" the attendant beamed while quickly scanning his own shop. The short man obviously didn't have any particular deal in mind and probably didn't know where half his wares were located in the crowded store. "Uh...ah...I have a nice assortment of untriggered land mines in the back!"

"What the hell would a seven year...shit, are you even trying?" Navarion snapped at the attendant.

The goblin looked back to the draenei cashier, who didn't even bother pulling the flint lock on the gun, a sign that the attendant really had made a horse's behind of himself. Scanning again for a second try when his backup wouldn't back him up, the goblin snatched a music box off the shelf. "This is an authentic piece of handiwork from...well, it plays pandaren opera so I'm assuming it's from Pandaria." The goblin held out the unpolished music box with one missing leg that had a figurine of a dancing furbolg - not a pandaren - inside.

"Do you have anything a little newer, and perhaps untarnished?" The single father tried his best to squeeze in between the rows of merchandise, though his large frame made that exceedingly difficult in the cramped space.

He needed to find something appropriate for such a mature child, yet also unique. She could share Hyptu's jigsaw puzzles, so that was out of the question. Dolls could be made in the home from any spare cloth and wool they had lying around, so the rack of small figurines the goblin tried rearranging didn't interest him. A noise from the cashier slash security guard caught his attention.

"Psst."

Looking up, Navarion noticed the draenei nodding toward a stack of unmatching chairs closer to the checkout counter. On top of the stack was a wooden box, ornately carved and without a price tag. His arms were long enough such that he could reach over the shelves of folded tablecloths and lift it up, earning a string of explanations from the excited attendant.

"Ah yes! Of course! Good taste, sir. That's an authentic Sindorei chess set, complete with hand carved pieces!" Motioning for the box, the goblin took it when Navarion handed it to him and promptly opened it up. "And oh! Look at this! There aren't even any missing pieces! What a deal!"

Images of a bright young girl with amethyst colored hair directing animated chess pieces flashed through the retired shadow hunter's mind. Everyone had remarked on how intelligent Zelda was, and her mother had been so insistent that she attend formal schooling. Navarion could remember the long running rivalry Issinia and their cousin Corrianna had in chess, and how focused those two were in their studies. It would be the perfect gift to both entertain his daughter and help her to exercise her critical thinking skills.

"How much?" Navarion asked bluntly, knowing that he was working on a limited budget.

"Well, this is authentic Sindorei handiwork-"

"It says 'made in Stormwind' in the back."

"-and it doesn't even have any missing pieces!"

"You already said that. How much?"

Examining Navarion's dusty pants and work boots and the riding gloves tucked behind his belt, the goblin frowned. "I don't think I can part with this for less than eighty gold, my friend-"

"Goodbye."

"No, wait, wait! Seventy five!"

"This is a nice chess set but it's obviously mass produced and the runes in the front aren't actually elven; it's just stylistic gibberish carved by a dwarf trying to imitate Archaic Thalassian. It's also made of teak, which hadn't been available at the Port of Stormwind until five years ago or so - this is a modern manufactured imitation. You should be negotiating in silver, not gold."

"Ha ha! You're funny! Are you new to the haggling game?" the goblin sputtered, looking rather pleased with his taunt. This time, Navarion didn't even say a word as he handed the box back to the man and walked out. He was wasting precious time he could spend actually seeing Zelda and knew he could always buy her a bag of candy instead. "Alright, alright, I only paid ten gold for it!" the frantic goblin called out from behind him. When Navarion swung around, the draenei cashier had his arms folded and was trying his best to look away; Navarion didn't even need to listen to the spirit world to know that the goblin was lying.

"I have eighty silver and my flying goggles here," he offered while jingling the weathered but functional goggles hanging around his neck. "That's all I have."

"How can you expect me to accept less than what I paid for?"

"You didn't pay ten gold for this chess set and you know it. Here, you get the whole coin purse too," Navarion countered while removing the entire sack from inside his pocket. "And I don't want anything else here. This is all the money I have, plus two items you can resell and there's nothing more. Bargaining won't get you anywhere because the rest of my pockets are empty. You take this and have eighty silver plus a pair of goggles that will sell fast in an international travel hub or you get nothing and I just go buy her some lollipops. I made my choice, you have five seconds to make yours."

"Well now, it seems that you're-"

"Five."

"-thinking you can out haggle a goblin. It's actually amusing that you-"

"Four."

"-think you can do that. See, many people think they can do that"-

"Three."

"-and that they can just wait out an honest businessman-"

"Two."

"-while speculating about the price of objects they know very little about-"

"One zero."

"Sold!"

Ever the dishonest businessman, the goblin held his hand out for payment before actually offering the box, betraying a lack of trust despite how tight security was in a city considered one of the cash cows of the Steamwheedle Cartel. Just happy to finish dealing with the man, Navarion readily offered his part of the deal just to get out of there.

"Come back again!" the goblin called after him as he walked out, tucking the box beneath his arm.

The exchange irritated him enough that part of his focus actually left his apprehension over the first meeting with Zelda and, in an indirect way, helped him to unwind a bit. Trying to retain that focus on irritating swindlers, Navarion gradually tried to force himself to stop thinking about the coming meeting so much and just let things take their natural course, as he generally did in life. When he saw the front gates of the Hearthglen estate, his heart rate was almost under control and he'd managed to stop the shaking in his knees and hands.

Though the moon hadn't set yet, the annoying light of the sun just barely peaked over the horizon to the east, and he hurried inside the empty courtyard. Commotion could be heard from the porch as he walked in, though his father was already standing in the anteroom, anticipating Navarion's arrival.

Khujand had a wide grin on his face as he stepped in to greet his son, and light conversation between Cecilia and a familiar small voice he'd heard a week ago sounded off from the family den. "Work alright?" he asked the oldest son.

"Alright but boring. I'm glad I'll only be doing this for another week." He quickly removed his boots and tossed the work gloves to the side, trying to ignore the light dizziness in his head.

"We can talk about ya employment situation later. Let me geshyu some privacy. Hey Shari," Khujand called from the anteroom.

"Yes father?"

"I need ya in tha kitchen for a minute," the jungle troll said, obviously sensing his son's nervousness. In a minute, the youngest daughter had exited and took a moment to greet her brother.

"She's in there with mom. She's been asking about you all night," Sharimara whispered as if it were some big secret. Before he had the chance to ask any questions, their father had pulled her down the hallway and into the kitchen, where a few more voices could be heard.

In between the long strings of beads concealing the den from view of the anteroom, Navarion could vaguely make out two figures. His mother appeared to be sitting in a cushion rather than her favorite chair; she rarely sat in the floor or on low couches Kaldorei style anymore due to her arthritis, but light laughter implied that she was enjoying her time regardless. A second figure, that of a child, sat next to her. Wearing a simple , thigh length dress over a pair of jeans, the barefoot girl had a skin tone matching Cecilia's exactly, just like Sharimara had claimed. Hair the color of an exceptionally dark amethyst spilled out far behind her, obviusly waist length, as she conversed with her grandmother. Slight jealousy worked its way into Navarion's mind as he wondered how every other member of the family go to meet his daughter before he did, but it quickly passed as he realized this was it: she would finally see the man who had been absent for her entire life up to that point.

For a few moments longer, he stood paralyzed in the anteroom, unable to take his eyes off of her. He tried to mentally prepare himself, but there was no precedent in his life for this. During her infancy, he hadn't been there to bond with her, to hold her in his arms as they slept and smell her hair. He hadn't been there to see her talk and walk for the first time, nor to hold her hand when she crossed the street. She was his, and he'd traversed an entire continent just to find her, but his mood dropped as he suspected he might not feel the same about her as normal father's did about their children. He had never bonded with her.

Her hand movements were more subtle than those of Hyptu, or Issinia's five year old daughter Ireth, or any of the other Hearthglen children when they were Zelda's age. Her tone of voice sounded relatively balanced, as if she were used to polite conversation, and even her posture was rather upright and reserved, more like a little lady than a girl. Ignoring the thumping sound in his ears, he tried to focus on what she was telling Cecilia. They were just in the next room and his long ears provided excellent hearing, yet he couldn't make out what they were talking about. Tapping into his voodoo, he found the spirit world silent and empty for the first time, and he felt as if he were an uninitiated civilian as his magic refused to respond to him. When he took a step forward, his feet both hurt and felt numb at the same time, as if he'd fallen asleep with his legs in an awkward position. He braced himself against the wall, waiting for some sensation to return to his extremities before he rubbed his eyes and took a few deep a tiny treasure bundled up in clothing, the girl sat on the floor cross legged, and he felt the urge to scoop her up and nothing else, his thoughts trailing off after the image of the small person in his arms.

Forgetting to clear his throat to indicate his presence per his mother's elven customs, he entered, finding the bead strings particularly disagreeable as he tried to force his way through. His mother continued looking at the girl, but two stars shone up at him, so bright that nothing else in his field of vision was clear.

Even with a feeling of movement in his stomach that was almost like nausea, Navarion was able to discern the movement of her neck that turned her head to face him. It was a small head, like a child's was supposed to be he supposed, and he guessed he could wrap his fingers and thumb from her chin to the top of her scalp were he to cup her cheeks. Her face was very elven, though not like Astariel's, and her slender ears were also more Kaldorei than Darkspear. Her hair was long and non-layered like most night elves, and its texture was thin and fine, but at the angle she had turned at he could tell it grew partway down the back of her neck, like a troll's mane. For a seven year old, she was bigger than a night elf but smaller than a jungle troll, and her wrists and ankles were somewhere in the middle in terms of width. The bridge of her nose was high, very trollish, yet her cheekbones were high as well, very elven. She looked far more mixed than he had expected despite her only being one quarter Darkspear, though the pure silver eyes were a giveaway of the majority of her heritage.

His palms were so sweaty that he had to readjust his grip on the box, which proved exceedingly difficult due to the odd tingling in his fingers. Even when he found his lungs functioning again, he felt like his brain wasn't receiving enough oxygen, and he cursed his mind and body for refusing to coordinate a simple greeting to the person he'd been chasing around the world for a month. At least the stinging burn in his throat, so menacing despite its psychological nature, dissipated upon seeing her.

Although it felt like an eternity, logic dictated that he hadn't stood there like an idiot any more than a few seconds. As if sensing her son's stupor, Cecilia almost chuckled to herself and broke the silence. "That's him, sweetie," she told her granddaughter.

Had they been discussing him? Sharimara had already told him that his daughter wanted to see him, but imagining that she every thought of him at all despite his totally absence of her life felt like an honor. A seven year old made him feel more flattered than any recognition for his past heroic exploits did.

Her shyness only lingered on her face for a moment before she smiled, and the mature confidence his siblings had told him of almost faltered in her expression. "Hi," was all she managed to say.

Her voice sounded far away to him, and he had to forcibly yawn to pop his ears twice before he could hear the voices from the kitchen again. Swallowing just in case any residual dryness would try to thwart the first words he'd speak to his daughter, he laughed to himself without knowing why and flexed the muscles of his legs to make sure he could still walk. "Hey..." He couldn't finish the sentence; addressing her by her name felt smothering, and he was already expending every ounce of willpower to make a good impression.

Stepping forward to kneel down, he tucked the box under one arm and found the lower position more stable and comfortable. She quickly stood to meet him out of respect, and when she stepped close to him without fear an intense tingling sensation settled in right between his eyes. When she didn't bow as elves often did (he didn't expect her to nod or salute like a troll), he began to wonder if she was as nervous as he was.

No matter how hard his rapid brain tried, he couldn't think of anything appropriate to say. All the words he'd scribbled on countless sheets of paper across his ten hour shift at the stables escaped him, leaving him stupefied but desperate as Zelda remained just as quiet. As if understanding the significance of the moment, Cecilia didn't intervene again, and simply watched the introduction play out.

"I've waited a long time to...finally...see you," he said without thinking, wanting to at least fill the silence with something. "I - oh!"

Instead of answering back, waiting for him to finish or continuing to stand back, Zelda interrupted Navarion's bumbling speech by stepping forward directly into him and wrapping her arms around his neck. It took him a moment to realize it was a hug even though his nieces and nephews hugged him often; it didn't make sense but it felt different. Physically her short height caused her head to rest against his collar bone in the same position, her shorter arms had to angle up high in the same way to reach his neck, she still had to walk into the little alcove formed by his kneeling leg and outstretched arm, but there was something different. Something he could put his finger on.

She wasn't a skinny child, but her arms were so small that she felt fragile as he hugged her back. Although she was probably strong enough to hang on to his neck if he stood up, she felt almost tiny and weak despite obviously not being so. He put his free hand between her shoulder blades and he felt like he could hide her away from the world that way, and just hold her close no matter what was going on around them. Her breaths were normal for her size but more rapid than his, and a weird fantasy of wrapping her in a blanket and putting her inside of a shoebox worked its way into his head.

When she pulled away from him, she looked completely calm and lacking the overhwelming flood that had washed over him. How a seven year old who grew up fatherless controlled herself better than the absentee father himself was beyond him.

"You look like how mommy told me you look." Her voice sounded like a little cherub, and he could tell that she'd been taught to sing, at least a little bit.

When his throat tickled, he could tell it was real and not in his head like the dryness. Grunting and clearing it, he forced himself to speak naturally, preferring to possibly say something stupid than not to answer her. "You look like how you look in my dreams," he replied, feeling silly until she giggled the way his mother would when talking to his father in the back porch and thinking nobody could hear her. Obviously taking note, Cecilia smiled, observing another part of herself in the girl.

Peering at him curiously, she made the cutest expression, as if she was confused by his words. "Did I look different in my sleep than from in your sleep?" Zelda asked him. She appeared mildly bemused, and he got the feeling she thought he was joking.

"Your sleep?" Navarion asked her back. "What do you mean, d...dear?" He didn't know what else to call her if not by her name, and figured he would make up pet names as he went along.

Innocence shined in her eyes, accompanied by a comfortable look as if standing in the little alcove of his arms and legs were the most natural position for her from birth. "I mean when you used to watch me. Did I look different then?"

The hair follicles on the back of his neck stood up, complementing his mild panic. Her mother had obviously told her stories about him, possibly to lessen the pain of being a fatherless child. If Astariel had indeed built up a fantasy of a functional family, whatever he said next could make or break that fantasy. Pressure piled on to him at breakneck speed as he tried to imagine what sort of stories the girl had been told, and he frantically sought a solution out of the mess.

Once again, his mother came to the rescue, filling him both with relief at the tactical save and embarrassment at being unable to have a simple conversation with his daughter. "Oh, did your daddy see you before we did, sweetie?" Cecilia asked, putting up a front that would have fooled the best Booty Bay swindler.

About as close as a seven year old could get to becoming nostalgic, Zelda swooned and giggled enough to reveal a perfect set of teeth, including two upper canines that were nowhere near being tusks but were sharper and more prominent than fangs. "Sometimes when mommy would get sad because of work, daddy would come visit us at night. He couldn't stay because he was busy in the war, but he would watch me when I slept. Then when mommy would cry because he had to go back to stop bad guys, I'd wake up." She turned back to Navarion and smiled mischievously as if she'd finally caught him. "He'd always leave just in time so I'd keep sleeping but mommy would accidentally wake me up."

Just in time, Cecilia scooted closer to draw the girl's attention away. "Well, now we get to see you too, and we get to have fun with you even more," she laughed while taking Zelda by the hands and lightly dancing with her.

Guilt, shyness, humility and a sense of being unworthy assaulted his heart, permanently spoiling any chance he could shut it off and freeze it out again. Thankful for his mother's undying assistance despite her disappointment in his life choices, Navarion took a moment to practice quick breathing exercises as he ignored the mounting pressure behind his eyes. The muscles on the front of his chin creaked, threatening to reveal too much vulnerability in the first meeting. Numb for so long, he found himself unable to deal with the flux of emotions and found himself fighting off both another pang of nausea as well as the whimper threatening to climb up out of his voice box.

He'd never be able to explain it, but more than anything else, that belief of Zelda's hit him hard and kept him down for the count. How such a disadvantaged and intelligent girl could believe such a fantasy about a lout like him was beyond his understanding. And how someone as resentful of him as Astariel could conquer that negativity and uphold the lie for Zelda's sake was almost as fargone, especially considering the fact that she'd made no attempt to contact him, even in her hour of need living on welfare in public housing. Counting the blessings he knew he didn't deserve, he surreptitiously slumped onto the floor and let his mother play with his daughter a little more as he swallowed a painful lump and forced himself to repress his feelings at least until he could hide in the large garden in the backyard and cry to himself after everyone else went to bed.

He'd mostly calmed down when Zelda spun back around to him, granting him no respite from the storm of what he'd missed out on for seven years hitting him in only seven seconds. "Mommy always told me you'd come back for us one day, when the war was over," she said with an innocent, unpretentious glee.

No longer able to bear it all at once, he quickly slid the box out from under his arm, knowing she'd be too polite to ask what is was on her own. "I did, I came back...and I brought something I wanted to show you," he stammered while opening the box.

Her silver eyes lit up, but she refrained from taking the gift without being told. When he motioned for her to do so, she sat cross legged again and scooted close in between her father and grandmother. "What is this?" she asked while picking up a figurine of a Phoenix rider in the position of the bishop. Her small hands were careful but not dainty, punctuating the moderation in all of her characteristics.

"This is a chess set," he explained, finding it easier to brush aside the crashing waves inside of him when he had an external object to focus on. "It's a game that expands your mind and teaches you planning and strategy." When she put the piece back before examining another, he realized that the little lady wouldn't actually take anything until she'd been expressly told it was for her. "It's yours; your other aunt will want to challenge you when she arrives, so we can start practicing when you come to visit."

Distracted only momentarily, it took a moment for the fact that it was hers to register. Her little eyes grew as wide as the saucers Navarion used for mint tea and lemonade in the evenings, and she sucked in air between her teeth while grinning much in the way Sharimara would, ever the true Hearthglen.

"Oh, thank you so much daddy! For everything!" Zelda sprang up, tossing her subdued demeanor aside to hug him again, and he found himself springing just as fast to the point that his reaction even shocked himself. "All my other toys got broken when someone robbed our apartment in Tanaris! I'm so glad you finally came for us!"

Hugging her tightly enough that she couldn't see him, he finally released just a little; not as much as he needed to, but at least enough to let him retain control of his composure. One tear rolled down his cheek and onto the back of her long sleeved dress, and he transformed his whimper into a laugh as he rocked her back and forth and squeezed her tight.

"I know...me too."

After spending the happiest hour of his life in the den with his daughter and his parents, Navarion felt he'd trained Zelda just enough to know how each chess piece moved. Strategy was beyond her that early on, but considering the fact that she'd never been exposed to such games before - the Sisterhood of Elune didn't value games as educational tools - she learned rather fast. There was even enough time for Khujand to let the girl beat him in one match before their time had run out.

The familiar footsteps of someone outside signaled that the girl's mother had returned, though his parents were so enamored in their long lost granddaughter's demure antics that they didn't pay any attention. Being the only other waking female in the house, Sharimara stepped out onto the porch to make small talk with Astariel. The warden was most assuredly putting up a front - she hadn't liked Zelda's mother from the start - but she seemed to do rather well. Since Astariel probably knew he was inside, Navarion assumed she wouldn't enter of her own accord so as to avoid even seeing him.

Realizing he'd blown all his money on the chess set, Navarion excused himself and hurried to the anteroom. Cecilia watched him the whole time, likely to ensure that he wouldn't try to talk to Astariel. Truthfully, he had no intentions of doing so even though he wanted to. No matter what negativity lied between them, she was still the mother of his child, had persevered to raise her right and had done a great job, all things considered. However, if she didn't want to see him again after how he hurt her so badly, he wouldn't blame her. Sharimara might blame her for not informing him at least, but he knew their history together, and he had no hard feelings.

Speaking of the warden, Navarion found her satchel on top of a dresser full of scrap paper, spare thumbtacks and old receipts (she found purses to be too dainty). Pilfering through it quickly, he scrounged up almost one gold's worth of silver pieces and wrapped it in an old flyer for a defunct tuna canning company. Before he had a chance to hand if off to his mother or father, Zelda had wandered to the front door despite Khujand's attempt to snatch her up.

"Hey mommy, come see what daddy brought me!" she called to her mother, motioning for the retired archer to come inside.

Trying to make a quick escape, Navarion found himself caught when Zelda turned and held his hand. His palm could enclose hers twice over, and the feeling was so heartmelting that he found himself unable to move. Not wanting to let the girl realize that something was amiss, Cecilia took her time popping her joints and standing up, and Sharimara returned Navarion's trapped expression.

"It's getting late honey, we can take a look at it tomorrow," Astariel said in the same soft voice he remembered from all those years ago.

"It will just take a second, here, grandpa has it!" she pleaded, leaving Navarion at the door as she went to collect the chess set from Khujand. By that time, Cecilia had stretched her legs enough to walk past Zelda and block Navarion from view, intercepting the girl as she forgot her shoes and backpack in the house.

"Here, let me help you show your mother," Cecilia offered while fingering one end of the chess set. As if part of a sentinel squadron, Sharimara silently shifted back into the anteroom to take the place of blocking Navarion from view, leaving their mother to make small talk while Khujand searched for the girl's belongings. It was all like a well-oiled machine working to prevent any sort of awkwardness between the two parents.

Just as he started to sneak toward the kitchen, his daughter innocently called for him again. "Daddy, what does this piece do again?" she asked without giving him any point of reference. Her voice held such a warmth when she called for him that it felt unfair to leave his mother to explain things instead, especially after Zelda had waited so many years to see him.

Peeking out from behind his sister, he wasn't able to get a clear view of the piece she held in her hands. Navarion took a few steps forward to the door frame, finally able to see the entire group. Zelda held a carved battering ram in her hands, the silver glow of her eyes forcing him to squint in the early light of dawn. Standing off to the side, her mother was much easier to see.

Astariel wore a dark green cloak this time, similar to what many Kaldorei archers wore but unwrinkled and freshly washed. The sheila had been loosely wrapped around her head, leaving half her ears to poke out the back and much of her hair to spill out over her shoulders. Only part of her face and neck were revealed, along with a portion of her scalp, but it was enough for him to remember. She hadn't aged, which wasn't surprising considering the fact she was still young for an elf at the age of fifty one. There was something different, however; she smiled at her daughter sincerely, but aside from the discomfort at his presence he noticed something else in her expression. The naive optimism was gone; he didn't know how he knew, but he did. The cheeriness he had once know had been replaced by a more mature, needs-based contentedness and even her smile wasn't as vibrant as he remembered. The plump figure that he found so beautiful was still there, the barely revealed wrists and part of her forearms were still subtle enough to make him imagine what she looked like without the cloak on, but her hands on her hips looked less bubbly and more tired, like she'd spent a day doing more demanding work than just patrolling a wall.

Her eyes didn't meet his, but she did look at him. When she looked away quickly and didn't smile, he felt sad for what had once been so open and undamaged but now seemed lost. A difficult life had changed her, but he had been part of the cause.

Sharimara punched him in the kidney to zap him back into reality. "Ow! Oh...that's the battering ram, dear. It can move in a straight line for unlimited spaced, but only in a straight line," he told her after suppressing the spike in adrenaline that was making him feel dizzy again.

Making a save once again, Cecilia intervened before Zelda could pick up any more of the scattered pieces. "It's getting late, sweetie. You'll have plenty of time to practice once you get a good day's sleep." Gentle but still the authoritarian, Cecilia closed the box in Zelda's hands just as Khujand passed the girl's belongings to her. He and Sharimara began to walk back toward the kitchen, leaving Navarion to trail behind just a little too late.

"Goodbye daddy!" Zelda called out closer than he remembered, and when he turned around he found that she had walked toward the porch before her mother had a chance to grab her.

Pressured and unwilling to see her upset, he exited the house before anyone could stop her and gave her another big hug, lifting the girl up off her feet this time. Astariel looked annoyed at the delay and unhappy to see Zelda so attached to him already, but for that, Navarion actually didn't feel guilty. He might have wronged her, but he was trying his best to give them both a better life and, as Valmar said, he still had rights as a father.

Finally setting Zelda down, he watched her run back to his mother to give Cecilia a hug as well. Patient despite her irritation, Astariel said nothing and waited. There was precious little time left, and since Sharimara had disappeared all was clear to deliver the spending money Valmar had mentioned as part of the living situation. Before his mother could stop him, he approached, causing Astariel to tense up, and his vaguely functioning voodoo told him of the internal doors trying to slam shut in his face.

"Per the agreement," he told her in a low voice without making eye contact. He held the bundle of coins out to her, the rough equivalent of the peanuts a stablehand earned but certainly a decent amount for the single mother when she didn't have to worry about rent.

For a moment, he thought she might reject it, and Cecilia gave him a stern look that warned of a firm scolding if he screwed things up. After a few long seconds, she took the money from his hand and tucked it into an inside pocket of her cloak unceremoniously.

"Thank you," she mumbled, strangely sounding both sincere yet irritated by having to deal with him. Her stories of him coming back to the mother and daughter one day, he surmised, must have been a story to soothe the girl rather than any sort of desire on Astariel's part.

"Thank you," he said right back, earning him a sharp look from Cecilia and more awkward tension from Astariel. "She's the greatest gift I could have imagined."

Though maintaining her defensive wall, Navarion remembered Astariel well enough to notice the slight changes to her expression. At first, disbelief struck her, like she suspected he was mocking her. When he unintentionally gave Zelda a sappy look he would have hated to see on himself ten years ago, she realized he meant it, and a combination of discomfort, bitterness but also exhausted relief found its way into her furrowed brow and pursed lips.

"That she is," Astariel replied pointedly, obviously forcing herself to remain polite for the sake of their daughter.

Since she was already talking, wouldn't make a scene in front of Zelda and hadn't seen him in eight years, he decided to push his luck as far as his mother would allow, knowing he might not get the chance again if Astariel was more careful about approaching their house in the future. "We can still be civil. Kids need that sort of stability," he told her in the most vague yet understandable terms he could.

Pulling Zelda over to her, she signaled that the exchange was done, but at least begrudgingly accepted the arrangement. "We will. For her." Turning back to Cecilia, she swiftly ended the conversation, and he remained silent, feeling the point had been made. "Miss Hearthglen, thank you for everything."

"Whatever it takes. We're just glad that things have worked out for you here in Ratchet," his mother replied, always speaking politely but never resorting to peacock terms or euphemisms.

They watched the mother and daughter walk away, waving to Zelda as she waved back before disappearing from view out the gate. The figure of Valmar could vaguely be seen as the deadman escorted them back to the duplex, ever the semi-adopted member of the Hearthglen family.

His mother took him by the arm as they walked back into the house. "Don't push the envelope with her," she warned him.

"I won't, mom, I won't. I just wanted to offer the olive branch. She's a good woman and I just want what's best for Zelda," he replied, noticing how tired the whole family felt.

"Things are looking up."


	16. Confessions

The back room of the Ratchet Carpenter's Guild was a rather large place. Originally intended as extra storage, it ended up being obsolete when the guild expanded a warehouse on the empty lot behind the main headquarters for their operations. A large number of both local journeymen and experts as well as carpenters from other parts of the Barrens tended to coalesce there for classes and networking, supporting their guild well via the dues they all paid. On some nights, they supplemented that intake by renting the back room out to various causes. Never illegal, but always discreet, it was the perfect place for events not meant to be seen by the rest of the city's population.

That night happened to be one of those nights. Fortunately, there were enough chairs from the front reception area and a closet to the side to form three modest rows of seating. Most everyone attending that night had already filtered in, and all but a few were seated; the punch and cookies at the table in the back had mostly been filtered, and only a cross eyed human and a Steamwheedle-allied quilboar scavenged the remains. Everyone else was seated and ready, chatting lightly as they waited for the event to begin. They were a mixed crowd of almost thirty people, all dressed in plainclothes save one bruiser who looked like he'd taken official time off from his duty. Almost every race of Azeroth was represented in addition to at least one arakkoa refugee from Outland, all of them speaking Common rather pleasantly and getting along surprisingly well, even for a multiracial neutral zone like Ratchet. Some of them were tired, some of them were shy, but all of them were there for the same reason. Even those among them who didn't know each other talked freely, as if the environment put them inside a sort of safe bubble.

Ironically, not a single member of the guild was there. Whether it was due to the fact that none of them really had anything to do with the group or that they wanted to preserve their anonymity, one could not say. But for those that were there, the conversation as everyone settled in was surprisingly subdued for inhabitants of Ratchet. The laughter was quiet, the voices were all appropriate for an indoor setting and everyone seemed rather happy; a world of difference from most social gatherings in the busy port city. The organizer for that night, a very short but cheery pandaren, said a few words to each of the six rows of people as they quieted down, never raising her voice and speaking to as many people individually as she could. It was a very congenial atmosphere, and about as open and accepting as it could have possibly been.

From his position behind the small podium, Navarion could watch each person as they gradually simmered down, feeding off of the low key positivity buzzing in the room. Although a few people did make quiet comments to friends they likely only saw once a month during their meetings, most of them were surprisingly patient and eager to hear what another participant had to say. All the attention was a bit overwhelming despite the fact that nobody expected anything amazing or profound to be said. Many of them had taken their own turns already, that night or in the past, and the typically soft spoken words given provided a good model for the short introductions necessary.

Navarion had already attended three of these events over the past quarter of a year. Each time he sat in the back and spoke to only a few people, observing to see how they operated and what sort of structure, so to speak, they followed. There was never any pressure on anybody to even greet the others, yet if one chose to, they were immediately treated as a friend. Yet whenever members bumped into each other in public, they acted like they didn't know each other. Most often they didn't even acknowledge each other's presence though on one occasion, he noticed the cross eyed human and a tauren dock worker surreptitiously nod to one another across the crowd at the auction house. When Navarion approached the pandaren who organized the event, she shook her head at him silently, and very obviously walked from the open picnic area surrounded by the stalls of food hawkers to the garbage collection area, of all places. It was there that they spoke in private and agreed that he'd finally introduce himself to the rest of the society that night.

And there he was, very awake due to the hour, looking over a mostly tired crowd who were either prepared to go to sleep after their meeting, or to begin their weekend festivities as if nothing had happened in the empty back room they found themselves in. Most of the eyes fell on him as the organizer finished her rounds, and since she'd spoken to so many of them on a one on one basis there was no need for any words from her. She gave him a silent nod, letting him know that everything was set and he had nothing else to wait for.

Aside from the numb sensation in his fingers, he felt presentable and capable of speech, if not a bit perturbed. The lights were dim yet he could almost feel the sweat beading on the sides of his neck and even the tops of his forearms, as if he were undergoing an unpleasant medical procedure in an embarrassing position. Faces of people who didn't even know him spoke of an acceptance and respect he'd never known from strangers before, almost as if they were trying to help him along the way despite not knowing where he'd come from. It was flattering and humbling, which he needed as his house divided against itself.

Deep inside of him, his core muscles clenched and released twice as two halves of him fought for control. A part of him wanted to run away, just flee from a huge mistake and bolt for the door, blotting out the confused looks the others would give him. Yet another part, a more logical part, told him that none of them would be confused, and several of them might have done just that previously. A familiar weakness tried to work its way into his knees, but he flexed his quadriceps to the point where they might become strained to make sure that he remained firm.

He had come for a reason. Even the acid reflux tearing at his esophagus couldn't prevent him from accepting that. Chapped lips cracked a little more as he pushed himself uphill, determined not to fail in so simple a task.

"Thanks for having me here this evening," he chuckled nervously, not knowing what to say other than to parrot what he'd observed from others. The few who laughed did so with him, not at him, and he felt bad for not allowing their attempts to help him relax to sink in.

Among all thirty or so of those present, he didn't sense judgment from a single one. There were no assumptions about him, no preconceptions, no negativity whatsoever. It was a resoundingly positive environment, perhaps the best he could hope for. When the bile threatened him again, he tried repeating the description of the ingot meant in his head once more, forcing the bitterness to listen even if he had to scream into its ear.

"My name is Navarion Hearthglen, for those who don't know me...which is all of you, I suppose."

"Hi, Navarion!" beamed almost half of the other attendees, using his first name as if they were all old friends.

Very briefly, a muscle in his lower back cramped but he refused to wince, bracing himself against the podium and concealing it from all. The dryness burned his throat tenfold, almost to the point where he wished he could cut his own throat out, such was the pain. He felt like he'd swallowed a jellyfish, as if his throat was sore from an infection untreated for months. Like the cracked soil of the Badlands, his tongue felt like it was breaking apart and every breath caused him agony. Sad, furrowed eyebrows reflected sympathy of people who had been there before, and Navarion suddenly felt so naked. Every flaw, every mistake, every feeling he felt ashamed of was exposed to an entire audience. Like the walk of shame the morning after, he felt as if he'd slept with every person there after a night of regrets, and yet none of them thought any less of him for it.

The stench of the bile worked its way into his sinuses and then his nostrils, battering him with unnatural nausea. Still he persevered, letting the disgust and discomfort hit him as hard as they could without trying to hit back. No antacid pills or forced gorging on water and ginger was necessary; for an internal corruption, an internal cure was far more effective. The hysterical panic of the dryness as it scratched his lips, nose and tongue signaled that it knew the end was nigh, and would tear at him in the most petty way possible to the bitter end.

The organizer put a glass of water on the podium for him. He thanked her congenially but promised himself not to drink until he was ready. For too long he'd been walking on crutches; if it wouldn't end on that night, then he had no reason to be there. Letting his throat bleed under the laborious effort to speak, he stabbed the beast in the heart, venting a bitterness ten times as strong and twisting the blade in the most painful way possible.

"I'm an alcoholic."

Cold air chilled the corpse, filling his lungs as he breathed naturally for the first time in many long years. The indigestion subsided, reminding him that he hadn't even eaten anything greasy and had no reason to even believe it was ever real. Damp, uncracked lips pulled into a smile at the warm reception he received from the others, and relaxed muscles held him upright as he continued to speak. None of them knew each other, and they wouldn't acknowledge each other outside of their meetings. But for that night, in that setting, he found a place where he could finally start to unravel the oddity that was his wound up mind.

* * *

One by one, the members of the Ratchet Recovery Association filtered out of the headquarters of the Ratchet Carpenters' Guild, making sure that they all used different exits and weren't seen walking near to each other. After a two hour long session in which the broke into smaller focus groups and shared their monthly experiences, Navarion left feeling another step closer toward becoming a normal civilian living a responsible adult life. He'd never, ever tell anyone from the family. A few of them, such as Issinia, didn't believe in such groups if they met outside of a temple; others, such as Anathil, would freak out if they knew the full extent of his problem, even if he were trying to make amends.

But they didn't need to know. As he left the meeting and walked toward the greenhouse where he worked four and a half days a week to collect his wages, he felt as if he had begun to learn how to stand on his own. Perhaps others wouldn't understand, but that one sentence he'd started with had taken more out of him than had most of the military campaigns he'd fought in.

The greenhouse was responsible for the bean sprouts, water chestnuts, sardines and snails consumed locally at and even exported from Ratchet. As a port city, the place survived on entrepôt trade, refurbishing and reworking items they imported and then exporting those items at a higher price. Very little was produced locally aside from a few tool and hardware supply factories. The city functioned off of international trade, international travel and its neutral shipyard. The greenhouse, despite its small size, was a quirky source of pride for the locals and the cartel as a whole, and a sign that when there was money to be made, underwater snails could be aquafarmed at shipment point in a wasteland. His family's reputation as Ratchet's only cultivators of herbs had helped him get his foot in the door, but his own knowledge and skill had helped him excel at work.

It didn't prevent him from clashes with other strong personalities, however. By the time he'd reached the greenhouse nestled next to the minuscule public garden, he'd already mentally prepared himself to ask for money from the floor manager. That he even needed to prepare himself at all was a telling sign.

The main office was outside of the greenhouse itself. A tiny, two room cabin, the secretary inside had failed to see the retired shadow hunter coming and thus failed to warn the floor manager before the door had already been opened.

"Mister Hearthglen, what a surprise!" the flustered half-elf temp they'd hired stammered as she tried to push her way out of the crowded stacks of papers and cartons she'd surrounded herself with. "What brings you here?"

Ignoring her entirely, Navarion stepped into the floor manager's office and stood in front of his desk, neither sitting down nor offering a greeting. "One week's up, boss. Don't mean to take too much of your time." His voice was plain and polite; truthfully, he didn't want a confrontation if it wasn't necessary.

Without even looking at him, the portly human continued scribbling away on a notepad, doing his best to demonstrate that he viewed the large, silver eyed man as beneath him. Not even pausing for one second, the human reached beneath the desk with his free hand and shoved a prepared coin purse across his desk.

As always, Navarion weighed it, then counted the coins in front of the floor manager if it didn't feel heavy enough. Considering the fact that he was the most skilled person there and they both knew it, he had little shyness when demanding his rights. "The rate is eighty five gold a week. This is short by twelve." His tone was dry and formal, but his blood pressure rose slightly as he realized they'd have to go through the motions again.

"We don't have change. I'll give you the rest next week."

"No, you won't," Navarion answered pointedly, growing more irritated by the second as the pudgy, bespectacled human refused to look at him. "You're obligated to pay me in full even if you don't get paid. And if you don't pay me in full, I'm not going to accept anything from you, in case you're thinking just a little bit each week will go unnoticed."

"Mr. Hearthglen, everyone bears responsibility of the slumping economy equally. I've paid you all that I have. Don't you trust me to out the customers first, employees second?"

"There's change clinking in the drawer of your desk. Give me whatever is there even if it isn't enough."

Without any escalation at all, the human already raised his voice. "Excuse me, but who do you think you are to be giving orders?" he asked, his fat nose scrunching up as if he truly hadn't expected the demand.

"I'm a legal employee who's going to reject this whole coin purse since it isn't actually my exact wage and report your ass for withheld payment, which would be a huge embarrassment to a city that prides itself in taking money seriously."

"Did you just say arse in a place of work!?"

"No, I said ass. Give me my fucking money."

Overacting like an amateur, the human let his jaw drop just a little too slowly. "What...did you just-"

"You're a shit actor and we go through this at least twice a month. I'm the most efficient worker here, you would have fired me a long time ago if I weren't. You're able to embezzle twice as much money from company profits now that I'm here so give me my wage or I'll report you for skimming off the top, too."

Terrified at having his illegal activity thrown in his face so casually, the human tried to play it off by shoving another coin purse that obviously contained the entirety of Navarion's wage across the desk. Counting it in front of the pudgy man to make a point, Navarion didn't expect other to thank him as he left.

"You're fired the moment I can find someone to replace you!" the human called after him spitefully, unable to let someone have the last word while walking out his door.

"You'll be doing me a favor."

Quickly back out onto the street, Navarion controlled his breathing and tried to remember the high he'd experienced when leaving the meeting not long before. As much as he loved his job, he truly despised his boss and knew that he wouldn't be able to stay long term. One thing at a time, he told himself while counting the laundry list of life changes he'd need to make.

All things considered, he'd done a tremendous job when he thought of the point he'd been at four months ago when he'd first returned from New Nendis. He was walking home toward his family's estate in a new pair of shoes. For people as physically large as his family, most articles of clothing had to be custom made which was never cheap. The Hearthglens were relatively well off but since he'd brought his daughter and her mother to the city, he'd made a point not to use his family's money for everything. True, his parents were still paying for Zelda's education and were housing Astariel for free, but their greatly improved quality of life was in part due to the informal child support he was paying to the mother of his child. At first it had only been enough for the mother and daughter to eat at a restaurant twice a week, but over the past few weeks, he'd been able to provide a more comfortable lifestyle for them than most of the city's population and even had extra money for himself afterward.

His parents were thrilled, and not just because of the new addition to the family. Although all of the siblings except Sharimara had a tendency to leave home for periods of time, they did so for different reasons. Anathil represented the family herbalism business when visiting customers (mostly alchemy and reagant shops as well as hospitals and even a few restaurants) and was frequently gone, but always for short periods of time. Issinia and Zengu were both gone nearly half the year, but that was due to their respective positions in the Sisterhood of Elune and the Cenarion Circle. Tiondel's case had been a bit more dramatic: he'd married young to a woman he didn't know well, lived away for a few years of unhappy marriage and returned to become the first member of the family to get divorced. As painful as it was, the reality is that their mother and sisters largely supported the breakup and, after spending years at home, he'd recovered relatively well.

Navarion, however, followed a path his parents hadn't wanted for any of the children: an adventurer, like they had been. Every time he left home, he wasn't certain that he'd come back, and for his ageing parents that caused them a great deal of anxiety. Looking back he didn't regret it, as he would have gone insane cooped up at Ratchet rather than outside exorcising his demons the hard way, but he didn't regret his current situation either. Everyone hangs up their weapons eventually, or they die in battle; there was no third option. Though young for a half-elf, he'd done more traveling and fighting than most ever would. It was time, and admitting that was much easier than he'd expected.

At the top of the bluffs overlooking the city, he saw his father in his normal spot, this time with his mother. Cecilia leaned back against Khujand, who had his arms wrapped around her as they watched the stars shine over the ocean silently. It was kind of gross but kind of cute at the same time, and he did envy all his parents had built; as the oldest, he and Anathil would feel pressure to add something to the family history even though their parents didn't demand that of them. Having helped to expand their family's influence and reputation within the herbalism industry on the east coast of Kalimdor, Anathil was already well on her way to doing so and she still had at least half a millennium to live; none of them would ever live up to their mother's service during the Long Vigil, but at least the oldest daughter was rapidly approaching the same level of post-immortality influence left in the world. Navarion had participated in unsung campaigns to root out villains, but was one of many faceless foot soldiers who did so; his old guild had been dismantled and even people he'd served with no longer recognized him well. The birth of a daughter, even if it had arisen from personal tragedy, gave him that drive to make a positive effect in the world.

The moment he walked in through the gates, that drive returned hard as a flash of amethyst was his only warning before a glowing eyed figure launched herself from the fountain in the courtyard and hung around his neck.

"Be careful, you could slip and fall!" he cried out, channeling his parents in the most awkward way possible as Zelda's soaked shirt and pants dampened his clothes.

Just as soaked and soggy, Venjai had almost passed out in the grass while Hyptu was literally splashing inside the fountain. "We had a battle for naval supremacy!" the child laughed just as he slipped and fell under.

"There are better games to play than war games," Navarion replied while ringing his daughter's clothes out the best he could, once again shocking himself by how much he sounded like Cecilia and Khujand.

"I have water in my ears!" the normally well behaved girl chirped, striking her head with her palm to listen to the strange echo in her ear canal.

"We have drops for that inside, let's go dry off." Leaving his sister's sons to continue splashing each other until his parents inevitably caught them, Navarion cradled Zelda the way he would have had he been around during her infancy, letting the remaining water drip onto his clothes so as to keep the floor of the house dry.

Calming down once they were indoors and heading up the stairs, she began to look worried once out of view of the other children. "Am I in trouble?" she asked in the sort of wide eyed, obvious way only a juvenile could.

"No, no," he chuckled as he put her on the floor in front of the women's bedroom on the second floor. "You were having fun and someone older was there, just be careful."

"Because mommy doesn't let me jump and play in the water. She says that it's dangerous."

He nudged her inside and shut the door so she could change into some dry clothes, which he needed to do as well. "Sometimes it's okay to keep secrets," he laughed as he went across the hall to the men's bedroom. The irony of his own words didn't strike him until he was alone.

Back out in the hallway, they quickly went down into the kitchen for a snack, as had become their habit when she arrived from her mother's house each week and he arrived from wresting his wages from the greenhouse floor manager. Worried his blood pressure would rise just thinking about the man, Navarion tried to initiate the conversation as they entered and greeted Irien and Sharimara, who were already relaxing into the start of the weekend.

"What did you learn at school this week?" he asked while rekindling the firewood that was still charred from breakfast inside the stove.

Sitting next to Irien who, as Navarion's godmother was perhaps a godgrandmother to the girl, Zelda pondered the question for a moment. "Locusts are an excellent source of protein," she answered nonchalantly, much to everyone's entertainment.

He added some coconut oil to one of the iron pans and began to open two tin cans of refried beans. "Not everything that is healthy is worth eating, dear."

"I also learned how to string a bow by myself."

"Will you be prepared to show us later?" Irien asked while trying to poke the girl's cheek.

Suddenly shy, Zelda's mauve cheeks blushed to an almost violet color for a moment. "No," she answered honestly and without pretense, earning her a noogie from Sharimara.

"Step by step and everything will come," the warden laughed. Sweeping her hand over the mostly empty surface of the dining table in the kitchen, she smiled warmly at her niece. "You didn't bring your chess set with you when you left last weekend. It's still on the back porch where we played during the rainstorm."

Navarion passed glasses of orange juice to all three of them as he prepared the beans, and Zelda drank half of hers before responding. "Mommy kept getting sad when she looked at it so I left it here without telling her. At school they told us that the best good deed is one you don't broadcast to other people." Irien facepalmed at the same time that Sharimara forced some nervous laughter.

Navarion, however, continued heating up the beans they'd all be eating that late evening. Zelda was too innocent to understand much of the negativity between him and Astariel, or so he thought. Her care for her mother, however, was endearing and a sign that she'd been raised properly. Brushing aside old feelings long since buried, he scooped the beans around in the pan and split them open to ensure they were all cooked thoroughly.

"It will be waiting for you here safe and sound when you arrive each week. And on the weekends, it's your time, so you can use whichever game you want." Inside the cabinet he found one good communal plate and set it on the counter, preferring to use the odd circle bread some of the orcs preferred to just scoop up the beans from a single plate.

Assuming her father had finished talking, Zelda continued to chatter away as an unaware child often tended to do. "Do you and mommy love each other?" she asked with not a hint of sadness or anxiety in her voice.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom," Sharimara said and immediately disappeared down the hall, to Irien's frustration and amusement.

Before he could reply, Irien tried to deflect the question. "Sweetie, where did you learn about these kinds of things?"

Zelda only looked at her as if she were joking. "Everybody knows about this auntie, where have you been? Sometimes two people are like friends but more than that, and they care about each other very, very much so they-"

"Brunch is ready!" Navarion burst out, laughing despite his apprehension and quickly placing the refried beans in the center of the table. Knowing his daughter was too intelligent to simply let her question be brushed away by flatbread and beans, he tried to handle the issue more tactfully. "In a way, all people care about each other; the way that they do just varies from person to person." She looked at him curiously from her chair, and he waited in case she wanted to ask him again. When she started eating, he assumed his answer had been vague enough to satisfy her curiosity.

It didn't work. "That sounds a lot like what mommy says about you," she said, her mouth full of beans and bread.

As if knowing his own curiosity would push him into a line of questioning, Irien cut Navarion off before the had the chance to speak. "You're like a little philosopher, sweetheart!" she told the child while trying to tickle her and make beans shoot out of her mouth.

"But I don't know what that is."

"It's a person who has big thoughts to help people understand the world. Sort of like a professional thinker."

Zelda frowned at her godgrandmother's explanation. "I don't like that at all. I wish I could play chess for a living. It's even more fun than sabre racing," she replied confidently.

"You will one day. There's no reason why there can't be a world competition for chess," Navarion laughed, tearing off pieces of Sharimara's bread as she walked back into the kitchen. "Maybe we could take a vacation to Silvermoon one day when you're older, I hear there are public squares where people compete against strangers there." Sharimara began reaching across the table to scoop up beans from his side of the communal plate, though he ignored it in order to keep the peace in front of his daughter.

"I've never been on a vacation before. I used to ask, but mommy always said we don't have enough money," Zelda said while twirling a piece of bread around in the beans. "Ratchet is a lot nicer than Nendis. I hope we can stay here."

"You're here for good, don't worry." Sharimara's interjection into the easy, comfortable parts of the conversation was still appreciated, though Navarion did laugh when she choked on a bit of refried beans.

"Can we visit Darnassus some day?"

"The aunt you didn't meet yet lives there part of the year. If you do well in school, she might let you stay with her for a while. She has a daughter too, her name is Ireth," Navarion told her in between bites.

"How old is Ireth?"

"She's five."

"Oh, I don't know if I'd like her. Five year olds are immature. Maybe she can come stay in Ratchet when I go to Darnassus." Zelda's tone was so thoughtful and serious that everyone at the table had to stop eating for a moment to have a good laugh.

They took the rest of the evening slow, waiting until most of the family had coalesced in the den to listen to a few of Cecilia's stories from the time before the Sundering, when the world was one continent and doors didn't have hinges. As if he'd been a part of her life all along, Navarion let Zelda sit on his knee as she listened in awe, feeling totally natural to have a child so close to him. After only a quarter of a year, the novelty wore off and was replaced with a serenity he hadn't expected. There was still a long way to go in terms of becoming stable, but he was surprised by how naturally the most significant job of all - raising a child - came to him.

As they always did, that weekend passed far too quickly. Worries from Navarion's work, his private development in terms of his sobriety and his direction in life melted away instantaneously whenever Zelda was awake. Having experienced raising a child himself, even if several years late, he finally understood why Anathil's eyes lit up so much when watching her sons perform the simplest of tasks. Even the cheap, run down game zone on the far south side of Ratchet where the whack a mole was missing a mole and the test of strength was rigged became more fun when she was around, and the whole family seemed a bit energized by the new addition. Cecilia and Khujand in particular seemed to be making up for a decade of lost grandparenting, and we're constantly around as the father and daughter got to know each other better.

By the time the two and a half day break had ended, Navarion and Zelda found themselves on the back porch, trying to delay packing as long as they could as she ruminated in why did decent herbs were different colors. Her theories might not have been scientific, but they were the most interesting things he'd heard in a long time.

Far, far too soon, Irien poked her head out from the back door, observing the pseudo-botanical discussion for a moment before delivering the news. "Zelda, your mom is waiting out in the family den. Let's not keep her waiting for too long."

Always wearing her heart in her sleeve, the girl displayed a combination of warmth and regret. "Aw...really? Do you think mommy would want to stay here for a while?" Zelda asked, her eyes twinkling like she really thought it possible.

"Probably not, dearie. You guys still need to get home, prepare for school tomorrow and possibly straighten up around the house." Irien paused for a moment, not wanting to disappoint the girl too much. "I think I heard your mom mention something about having chocolate at home."

Lit up like starfall, Zelda nearly tripped over her hooded jacket on the floor of the back porch as she bounded inside. "I love having two houses!" she giggled while following Irien inside.

Waiting for the two of them to head upstairs, Navarion stood slowly and stretched. Although he'd become comfortable having his child around, the weekly goodbye hadn't become any easier. Their lives were stable but a sense of unease always lingered, for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on. Brushing those thoughts away, he returned to the kitchen and swept up two thirds of his wages for the weekly child support payments he'd been giving to Astariel and walked back down the hall.

On that particular early morning, just a few hours before dusk, Cecilia and Khujand had retired to bed early. Tiondel would end up working two hours overtime at the alchemy shop to allow Venjai to try out the trade and see if it was right for him, while Anathil and Tan'jin were handling Irien's usual business at the auction house for her. That left Hyptu upstairs with Irien and Zelda, while Sharimara was out with Nephentha and some friends. Obviously Irien had greeted Astariel and probably offered her a light snack, but as Navarion approached the front of the house, he paused, anxious as he realized he and she would be alone together.

He felt silly, to be a grown man standing alone in the hallway, afraid to just see someone and hand them something. Breaking it down into general terms like that didn't decrease his anxiety, however. It didn't make any sense. For months, Astariel had been cordial to him and polite to everyone else. Sharimara still didn't care for her and Cecilia was always less open than she normally was when entertaining Astariel every time she waited in the den, but other than that, they all behaved like normal people. On a number of occasions, Astariel had even asked Navarion about his work situation and other matters not directly related to Zelda. She always did so in the presence of his mother or Irien, but it still felt nice to interact in a friendly manner.

Her attitude was a bit more direct, more blunt than how he'd remembered her. That shyness was gone, that cheer was hidden from him at the minimum, and that quaint, naive sense of humor he'd enjoyed so much had disappeared. But the person who visited them every week to collect Zelda had the same face, the same figure, the same thistle colored locks, the same sweet sounding voice even when she spoke to him so plainly. He'd never admit it to anyone in the family for fear they'd understand it in the wrong way, be he looked forward to seeing her every week. Whatever the remaining feelings could be labeled as, they'd always be there, and he truly did wish only the best for her.

As he approached, he could hear her fiddling with something inside the den. He was close enough to see a single end table and part of a chair, but nothing else from his angle. An odd tingling sensation worked its way up his spine as he stood there, surprising him as he discovered he didn't know what to do. Retreating a few steps back, he waited for a few minutes. His mother was asleep, but Irien was upstairs, creating a minor ruckus on the second floor with Zelda and Hyptu. If she'd only finish up and come downstairs, he'd feel more comfortable. But he couldn't go upstairs and announce that; it might make his daughter feel like he wanted her to go, which he absolutely didn't. It was a precarious situation, and the sudden emptiness of the house felt rather uncomfortable.

After a few more minutes, Navarion grew tired of waiting and took a few steps forward. If they left Astariel by herself, she might take it the wrong way. He didn't want her to get the impression that his family disliked her or resented her presence; all of them respected the job she'd done raising Zelda on her own for so long, and even if they weren't quite friends with her, they admired her and knew that Zelda needed her mother to feel relaxed and safe in a stable life. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to just greet her and explain that everyone was out.

The closer he walked to the den, the more confused the whispering of the spirits sounded to him. Blotting them out, he edged around the corner, trying to make himself visible before just barging in. Movement of cloth caught his eye and he realized that she had her back turned to him as she rearranged her purse, which she'd sat down on a chair in front of her. Her headscarf had been removed and draped across the back of the chair; he surmised that she might be searching for another one in there. She'd never used a purse back at New Nendis; she wasn't the type to carry around much, preferring a simple belt pouch and her quiver. Now that she was living a more adult life, she appeared to be lugging around a veritable toolkit of things she might need.

Her hair was shorter and layered, as if she had it styled professionally - extremely, extremely rare among night elf women who typically just let it grow long and then had a friend perform one even cut at the end to let it regrow. Thistles blooming in the spring mixed with scented periwinkle as he caught a glimpse of the back of her neck as she brushed her hair to one side with her hand. It had been so long since he'd been alone with her, so long since he'd seen more than her face, ears and parts of her hair that there was a measure of nostalgia for what could have been, in another life.

Her movements were not quite as gentle as they had once been. He remembered her so graceful, the skilled archer atop the city walls, but her hands moved more firmly now. Work and a difficult life without support seemed to have hardened her; he could tell from the hand movements. When she appeared to be frustrated with the way her belongings shifted inside of her purse, she snorted in an impatient way he wasn't used to hearing from her. It was as if she'd done an incredible amount of growing up in the eight years since they'd parted ways.

When she turned her head toward the side, however, was when it hit him hard. All the memories and feelings from the past couldn't prepare him for the burns.

Up and down the right side of her neck, behind and beneath her ear and on the part of the soft shoulder that lied exposed when her cloak was open, he could see it. Healed over but still marked, her skin was stretched and wrinkled, though in a way entirely different from a stretch mark. The color remained roughly the same and there was no shine to it, but the scarring was apparent at medium range. Based on his experience, it wasn't from magical fire, or fel fire, or faerie fire, or even a goblin blowtorch. This looked like it was from grease or oil, and given the fact that she'd been living the life of a civilian for so long, he knew it must have been from her work.

Beyond his ability to explain, his heart ached. Not a dull ache, but an intense puncture wound that hurt every time he breathed. Whatever had happened to her wasn't his fault and wasn't within his control; he should be bothered by it at all, and yet he was. A pain other than the imaginary dryness of sobriety pierced his throat when he saw and wondered what had happened to her, how she'd recovered, what had gone through her mind as she lied in bed wondering when support would come. Their relationship consisted only of polite words and a few questions weekly; the emotions rushing over him were too intense given their now only latent connection to each other. Unable to look any longer, he snuck back around the corner and into the hall so he could catch his breath, regain his balance and silently wonder what the hell could be taking Irien so long.

"Hello?"

Her voice came out softly, though not at the level he remembered it from so long ago. He'd gotten used to the changes in her over the past few months, but after what he'd just witnessed, they all felt so much more poignant. Even though he knew she hadn't seen him, he felt bad for having spied on her, and tried to force himself to sound normal so as not to leave her waiting alone any longer.

"It's me. Can I come in?"

For a moment she didn't answer, nor did he hear her move. Deaf to her feelings and attitude, he tried to stop his hands from shaking and cursed himself for worrying over a simple, one or two minute exchange. Eventually she shifted and he could tell she was donning her headscarf again. "It's alright," she replied, totally lacking any sort of apprehension in her voice.

This time when he entered and found her standing and ready for him, his pulse was closer to a reasonable rate. If she noticed anything awry then she didn't let on, and she waited near the chair for him as he handed her the bag of money. Accepting it silently, she quickly tucked it into her purse and turned back to him.

"How was she?" Astariel asked.

"Oh...she was great. She talks about school a lot; I think she'll feel disappointed when the summer vacation begins."

"And did she sleep on time?"

Loosening up a bit, Navarion found himself relaxed by Astariel's own nonchalance. "Well, she slept enough. We stayed up late but slept in, too. It's the weekend." When Astariel fell silent, he got the idea that she wasn't pleased by that answer, once again letting her conservatism show. "I've heard people mention the High Tide around town," he mentioned in reference to the restaurant she worked at, trying to lighten up the mood. "Sounds like you guys are really impressing the locals."

"Work is fine. A large number of travelers have been stopping by as well. I'm supposed to receive my first raise next month," she said dryly despite the good news.

"That's fantastic! I'm glad to hear things are working out so well," he beamed, visibly surprising her by his positivity.

"Yes...thanks. I take it you've settled in to more stable work."

"Yeah, down at the greenhouse. It's fine for now, at least as long as I can deal with the management. I'm keeping my eye out, though, in case I can find a better fit."

Astariel looked him over for a moment, her expression unreadable. "There's nothing wrong with a little consistency in one's work life. Sometimes accepting a situation as it is can be the safer choice," she suggested, obviously with a deeper meaning.

Their isolation together pressed on him a little more. Upstairs, he heard the sound of a child hit the floor followed by laughter and guessed that Zelda might be making a game of getting dressed. There didn't seem to be much of a way to just walk out of the room since Astariel was alone; entering only to give her a child support payment and then walk out after a few lines seemed so crass. That didn't mean that he wanted to engage in a discussion with her about his work, either. Anything that he viewed as his belated process of growing up felt a bit too sensitive, especially in front of someone he'd wronged in a rather selfish way years ago.

"I hope so," he replied, trying to find words that were empty enough not to incense her but substantial enough to bear some sort of meaning. "Say, what did-"

"Did you tell your boss to go to hell two weeks ago?" she asked him bluntly. There wasn't an iota of hostility in her voice and her tone didn't even sound accusatory, but the question stung him nonetheless.

"Who...who told you that?"

"I asked around, because your stability at work affects me, and your daughter. Did you really say that to your boss?"

Licking the inside of his cheek, Navarion reminded himself that many people were much more passive aggressive than Astariel; in a way, he was lucky to have someone as moderate and toned down as her as the mother of his child. Repeating that inside his head didn't allow logic to prevail entirely, however. "If you want to know how I'm doing at work, you could always ask me directly, instead of going behind my back." The moment the words exited his lips, he regretted the phrasing; now he was the one being accusatory.

Taking it in a stride, Astariel stood her ground but grew visibly agitated. "This is the third time I've seen you since it supposedly happened, and every week when I inquire, you claim that work is fine. I asked you directly and you hid that information from me."

Her words rang true, yet he didn't like to hear it out loud. Resisting the urge to tap his foot, he tried to dodge the issue again while silently praying that someone else would enter the room at that minute. "Work is fine. You and Zelda will be fine, everything will be fine. Don't worry."

"Did you tell your boss to go to hell?" she asked a third time. No matter how cordial her tone was, the question still grated his ear canal even more each time he heard it.

"Astra...work is going fine."

Eyeing him suspiciously, she shook her head. "I'm asking you nicely. The least you could do is answer me," she sighed in a way that made him feel as guilty just as much as the entire topic made him feel upset.

"Things are fine. Just relax."

"I moved here so you could help us. I work but I still need your help raising our daughter-"

"I'm helping," he interrupted her. It was a strange feeling, he thought, to simultaneously regret every word he was saying yet to continue saying them all the same. The two of them pushed each other's buttons in a way nobody else could for either of them. "I'm trying my best and I'm helping to raise Zelda. I've never been late in paying and I agreed when you asked for a bigger portion of my earnings."

"Why would you even mention that?" she asked. The hurt in her voice stung him hard and he panicked as he felt her becoming emotional, which would automatically cause him to become emotional as well. "Why would you bring that up? Why does it have to come to that?"

"I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry. That came out completely wrong." He held his hands up in surrender, and the two of them skipped a beat as they stared at each other. It was a long, unrestrained stare, and he felt the sadness that they'd both managed to ignore whenever other people were around. "I'd never put the life you two have in jeopardy, okay? Even if I hate my boss, I'll grin and bear it because that's life, and I'll never complain. Just relax."

Unrelaxed, she stared up at him again. Sadness mixed with frustration on both their parts, him at their isolation and her at him. "I have a right to know," she huffed, showing a stubbornness she hadn't possessed before.

Unfortunately for them both, his recalcitrance got the better of him, and he reacted to her comment without thinking. "No, you don't," he huffed right back, knowing he was wrong but finding his words beyond his own control at that point.

He didn't need the spirits for what came next; he'd been with enough women to know the signs when those mental and emotional doors were slamming shut and being bolted closed. The subtle twitch of the muscles in her upper lip, the stiffening of her shoulders, the straightening of her posture; it was all so slight that only someone who had seen her unclothed would notice. Irien, Zelda and Hyptu began to descend the staircase, too little, too late.

Pledging that he'd apologize later without knowing how, he forced himself to smile as the others arrived and greeted the stiff pair, unaware of the exchange that had taken place. The two of them put on their best front, all the way until the gate of the family estate from where Valmar was once again waiting to escort the mother and daughter home. When Astariel refused to even look back and check if Navarion was ready to apologize right there, a sense of worry larger than what a simple tiff should warrant settled in. Sleep was uneasy that day, and the fact that he had no dreams for the first time in years was more disturbing than any tricks that his mind could have played on him.


	17. Panic

Having stayed home that evening after waking, Navarion waited at the front gate of their estate alongside Irien. "It isn't like Astra to be this late," his godmother commented while watching the empty road atop the bluffs.

"She's never late at all," Navarion replied while looking back at the house. Everyone was inside and going about their evening after breakfast, running various errands and performing various chores.

Under the stars, the streets and buildings of Ratchet glowed an odd dark blue, in contrast to the beige and light brown tones of the city during the day. Irien breathed the fresh air on the bluffs above the city, calm and collected. Or at least, she projected that for Navarion's sake. "There's a first time for everything," she sighed contentedly, paying more attention to the weather than the truancy of mother and daughter. "Sometimes everybody is a bit late."

"Funny coming from you, auntie. You've never been late to any of your auction house appointments or meetings, not in almost half a century."

Her ego floated, Irien grinned at the stars for a moment. "Not everybody can be a boss. I'm talking about everyone else," she beamed.

"Yeah, that's not conceited!" he snorted and laughed at the same time. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have gotten away with the swipe, but since nobody else was around she just laughed alongside him. "I'm still worried, though. I don't feel good."

"Relax. You're being paranoid. Your parents were the same way when you and Thanil were first born."

"Yeah...I guess so."

As was the nature of the Hearthglen household, it would be possible for Astariel and Zelda's tardiness to exceed one hour before anybody noticed. Meeting the girl and her mother at the gates was a duty that fell on Navarion himself and whichever family member he could find to drag with him, and the family was very good in terms of leaving everyone to their own responsibilities and trusting that those would be fulfilled. In a way, it was a good thing; there was no reason for anybody else to worry if he could handle the issue on his own.

That didn't lessen his apprehension, however. One week after the first argument he and Astariel had engaged in since she'd moved to Ratchet, he found himself waiting for her with little to no information as to where she might be. During the whole week, nobody in the family had heard from her or even bumped in to her at a market. Up to her normal snooping, Sharimara had checked around the High Tide after Navarion confided in her regarding the argument, and she found that Astariel had been showing up to work as usual. Guilt gripped him due to his hypocrisy, which spurred him to seek help from friends to draft a written apology. That way, Astariel wouldn't have to see him and could take the whole weekend to think it over.

He marveled at the letter for a few minutes after he'd written it. Never in his life before that year would he have imagined himself apologizing so readily, even when he knew he was wrong.

The thought of not being able to worked its way into his head. As if noticing the change in his demeanor, Irien took him by the shoulder like he were a child on her lap again. "Let's go for a walk, just walk it off. We'll probably bump into them along the way." She pulled him outside the gate and shut it behind them, leading him down the beaten path overlooking the rest of the city.

"Dusk fell just twenty minutes ago. Perhaps they're eating a slow breakfast," he reasoned, trying to rationalize it in his head.

They passed both of the other two estates atop the northern bluffs before Irien answered. "That's probably it. Come on, it's a nice evening. The air is fresher this time of year." All the way to the end of the bluff they walked, stopping next to the upper flight point and the ramp leading to the main urban area below.

"I still don't see them."

"Grow up!" she laughed at him, behaving almost like a friend rather than an authority figure. "The weather is great, they might be going for a stroll as well. Or...we did make Astra wait a bit longer than usual last week."

"She isn't petty," he replied while shaking his head. "She would never do things like that."

The two of them stretched out at the end of the bluff, and Irien rolled her eyes at his comment. "People can do all sorts of crazy things when they feel they've been wronged or slighted. You never know." Despite her humorous tone, he winced uncomfortably.

"Come on, don't say that. You're the one that was trying to be positive about this."

They'd already turned around to walk back, chatting the night away when the movement of a berobed figure caught both of their eyes. The speed with which it moved despite wearing a rather elaborate fur coat meant it could be none other than the deadman himself. Though he could run quite fast when he wanted to, it was a rare occurrence that they only witnessed once every decade or so. He wouldn't be hurrying without a reason.

Not having any breath to catch, Valmar began speaking before either of them had a chance to start. "Astariel is gone and the door to her house is locked. When I peeked inside the side window, I saw that a lot of their personal belongings and most of Zelda's shoes were gone," he explained, about as rushed as someone who didn't have breath could be.

Irien grabbed Navarion by the hand before he could speak. "It's possible that she was packing all of those things for Zelda's weekend trip."

"But her own items were gone as well - all three of her cloaks that she usually hung on the wall opposite the door as well as those decorative plates she kept near the window," Valmar replied. He shook his head as if to emphasize the fact that things weren't ordinary, which didn't help Navarion to calm his rapidly increasing heart rate.

"You asked her neighbors, right?"

"They aren't home; when I dropped by the duplex two days ago, they mentioned that they'd be at the midnight market on this night. That's hours away but they're probably out preparing."

"And Astra? Did she mention anything when you dropped by two days ago?" Irien's voice was serious, but she possessed much better self control than them both.

"Everything was normal. She never talks for more than a minute or two but that's usual whenever I drop by."

"Did you ask her other neighbors?" Irien asked while squeezing Navarion's hand again to keep him quiet. "Up and down the street?"

"No...no, I didn't. I came straight here after seeing that the house had been emptied of some key items."

At that point, Navarion jumped in, unable to contain his rising sense of panic at each second of the rapid conversation. "We need to move up and down that street and start asking when and where they were last seen."

Irien shook her head, ever the strategist and logistics expert. "That doesn't require more than one person. We need someone scouting the docks and someone else scouting the stables and flight points." She said it with such conviction that Navarion almost forgot about the negative vibes he'd sensed earlier and already assumed the worst and followed her train of thought accordingly.

Had Valmar been capable of gasping, he would have. "You don't think...?"

"They're not at home and they brought shoes and cloaks with them. We need to search high and low as a precaution - we don't talk to Astra much and don't know her personality well, or what she might do." Irien's words stung Navarion's heart but he remained silent; he felt too embarrassed to let anyone else know that an argument had erupted between him and Astariel after only a few minutes unattended the last time the family had seen her.

"Shari. This is what she does - she hunts people down. We need Shari around the stables and flight points; that's a wide area that will need to be covered fast." Sharimara was also aware of the argument he'd had with Astariel, which might come in handy had the woman truly taken their daughter and decided to leave town.

"I...I don't understand," Valmar mumbled. "Everything has been so good for her here. Her job is envious, her daughter is in school, she lives comfortably and is treated well. It doesn't make sense that she'd just up and leave."

"Let's hope it's a false alarm - prepare for the worst, hope for the best." Irien began walking toward the flight point on the far end of the northern bluffs. "I'll start by checking here, just in case; Navarion, go home and get Shari and Del."

"Del is already at work."

"Just get Shari, then, and I'll be home in a few minutes to cover you guys. Nobody needs to know about this and hopefully they'll think we met them outside somewhere before bringing them home."

"I'll return to their neighborhood and ask around," Valmar shouted, already halfway down the earthen ramp leading into the city.

Navarion bounded home, peeking through the front gate to make sure that nobody was there; if Irien was going to concoct some story, then it would be easier and more believable if he could enter and exit without being seen. Once he was certain, he dove to the right of the courtyard, slinking by as if he were infiltrating a thieves' hideout again. The family den was on that side of the house and although it seemed empty, knowing his family it could become full in a matter of seconds. Using a local Barrens coconut palm for balance, he grabbed onto the curved awning of the Kaldorei style house and approached the window for the women's bedroom. At that specific time of year, Anathil would be in the guest bedroom with Tan'jin - assuming they hadn't already gone off to work or to the midnight market - and Sharimara would have the bedroom the Hearthglen sisters had grown up in all to herself. Rapping his knuckles against the gutter in their secret code, he waited for the window to open quickly.

Responding to a system for committing infamous crimes of delinquency they hadn't used in over thirty years, she was all business as she leaned out. "What's happening?" she asked in a low voice.

"Astra's house is locked and has been emptied of shoes and clothes, and we have no idea where she or Zelda are."

Gritting her teeth until her fangs showed, his sister grumbled at him. "I knew you'd...argh...what's the plan?"

"Valmar is back at the old neighborhood asking anyone around if they've been seen. Irien just checked the flight point here on the upper bluff and will come home to ale a cover story for us soon. I'm going to the docks; I need you to handle all the stables and other flight points."

"Done."

Without a word more, she shut the window and disappeared behind the curtain, likely suiting up already in preparation for another search and rescue quest - only this time, it wasn't at the behest of a stranger.

Leaping to the ground and racing out of the courtyard, he passed Irien on her way back in. "I checked at the flight point up here, and they haven't been there," she huffed, having run despite her chronic fatigue syndrome. "Is Shari coming?"

"Yes, she's-"

"Done," the warden repeated while whizzing past them both in marching boots and even carrying a damn grappling hook, of all things.

"-coming. What's the story?"

Panting heavily, Irien shook her head and began to walk inside. "I'll figure one out before I'm inside, just go and pray that this is a false alarm," she huffed before entering the gate.

That was all the prompting Navarion needed. Spinning around, he practically slid down the earthen ramp leading down into the city proper, though his giantess of a sister had already disappeared into the night.

Scenarios flew through his mind, distracting him from cobblestones in the road sticking out awkwardly and sudden curbsides that jutted up at random times. Stumbling and pushing himself hard, he navigated the narrow, winding streets of Ratchet toward the docks at first. Astariel was intelligent and responsible, but he had seen the emotional side of her when hurt back when he'd first told her he was leaving New Nendis eight years ago. He'd seen the way the hurt made its mark on her face, and the way she reacted by retreating and simply trying to close herself in. He'd also seen it in the conversation he'd had with Zorena almost six months earlier - how Astariel had consciously chosen the more difficult path of raising their daughter without a father figure in order to avoid dealing with him. He couldn't blame her, of course, due to how he'd hurt her. But he certainly could acknowledge that his thoughtlessness did push her toward reclusive behavior.

The docks came into his field of vision after he passed the banking district toward the center of town, and his thoughts shifted from nightmares of Astariel trying to take Zelda away and forcing him to go on another transcontinental search to finding her standing at the docks, looking out over the ocean and still there, safe and sound in Ratchet. Even after nightfall, the area was crowded - Ratchet received both passenger and cargo ships at all hours of the night and day. Due to the midnight market, the area was as crowded as usual; traffic was typically lighter at night, but a large number of locals were out and about as well. Multiple languages filled his ears as he scanned the crowd, looking over people who were almost entirely much shorter than him to look for either a light purple cloak or thistle colored hair. The lanterns along the pier and the street lining the edge of dry land clashed with the starlight and his ultravision, lowering his visibility despite the fact that he was, biologically, nocturnal.

After a few fruitless moments of searching, he grumbled and waded into the crowd, trying his best not to push or shove as he found a disproportionate number of goblins and gnomes small enough for him to step on falling in his way. Spying one dockhand flanked by a bruiser near an empty ticket booth, Navarion saw an opportunity for quick answers and surged forward.

"Sir! Excuse me, sir. Are you on duty right now?"

The bored looking goblin looked up at him from a crate of stuffed animals he'd been standing on alongside the bruiser. "I just clocked in. What do you need?" the short green man asked. His tone was surprisingly upbeat compared to most of the dock workers who usually wanted nothing to do with lost travelers.

"When did the last passenger ship leave?" Navarion asked, still scanning the crowd.

"Well, like I said I just clocked in, but usually on Fridays the last regular passenger ship would have left about three hours ago."

Temporarily relieved, Navarion's heart beat as fast as his fluctuating mind: if Astariel had wanted to, there would be nothing to prevent her from waking up extra early to catch a ship out of town. That relief washed out rather quickly and he almost felt dizzy from the realization. "Is there any way to view a roster of passengers?" he asked almost shyly.

"Confidential, sir. Sorry, but I'm sure you understand."

"Fair enough...what about the next passenger ship?"

Tilting his head back and forth as he mulled it over, the man gave only a half committal answer. "Normally that would be a midnight ship leaving to New Theramore, but since we have the midnight market here, I'm not so sure. Like I said, I just clocked in. There's a notice on the bulletin board near the main ticket booth, though." The man pointed to another booth that actually did have ticket attendants manning it, similarly bored and without much to do.

"Thank you so much, sir," Navarion said while rushing over to the next booth.

"Don't mention it!"

Over at the other ticket booth, Navarion elbowed his way among the crowd only to find a notice mentioning the midnight market itself. Nowhere could he find any sort of passenger ship schedules beyond the usual one mentioning the midnight voyage to New Theramore. Perhaps the schedule would remain as usual, in which case he'd theoretically have hours to locate his daughter and her mother, but the lack of information still shook him. Short of interrogating every person around as to whether or not they'd seen a plump night elf woman and a girl who mostly looked like a night elf but not quite, he didn't quite know what else he could do.

An opalescent crest across the crowd caught his eye, and touched it with a glimmer of hope.

Chatting with a few friends he didn't know, Nephentha stood near an open area surrounded by hedges where people near the docks could step away from the crowds and foot traffic to eat, talk to simply rest. Nudging his way down the road marking the edge of dry land, Navarion walked due south past a few offices for shipping companies and storage services until he reached a t-junction followed by the open area. The naga sea witch didn't notice him at first, though the tauren and human women she was talking to did.

"Hey Nepha," he called out to her from over the hedges. There were already enough people standing inside that he found it easier just to stand at the edge of the road and talk. "I'm so glad I found you, I could really use your help about now!"

The two other women looked at him curiously, eyeing him up and down as he ignored them to look at his friend. At no point did the scaly woman turn to him even when she stopped talking, and instead folded her hands in front of her and fell silent.

"Nepha, are you alright?"

Just then, Navarion noticed the movement of someone large and green out of the corner of his eye. Before he could even turn around, a broad shouldered man even larger than Khujand and Zengu stood before him, blocking his view of his old friend.

"Can I help you?" came the unnaturally echoing voice in Nazja, a language similar enough to Darnassian that Navarion could understand what the scaly man was saying if he paused to think about the accent and verb conjugation for a minute.

A long, reptilian snout like some sort of dinosaur from the depths of the ocean pointed down at him. Far, far different from Nephentha's spherical, almost humanoid head, the naga male looked like a big snake with shoulders and arms, and although the man wasn't hostile, he certainly didn't look happy.

Putting two and two together, Navarion realized that the male was Nephentha's husband; her wedding would have already taken place. Not that he knew about it; as she'd told him so many months ago, her marriage dictated that his friendship with her come to an end due to naga social mores. She had heard him just fine, and had possibly been rather embarrassed by his attempt to speak to her directly, and in public.

Two nostrils like slits opened and closed as the protective husband waited for an answer. "Oh...I wanted to ask if Nepha has seen my daughter and her mother around. I can't find them currently." Not quite tense but certainly not at ease, the two men looked at each other blankly for a moment. Eventually, the husband turned back to Nephentha and asked her the question on Navarion's behalf before turning back around.

"Yes, my wife did. She says she saw the mother stop by the High Tide restaurant about an hour ago, but without a work apron."

The pause afterward wasn't aggressive, but it heavily implied that the exchange had finished. Not knowing whether to congratulate the man or not, Navarion nodded and bowed to him instead. "Thank you for your assistance," he mumbled as he walked toward the district where Astariel's place of work was found.

The large, scaly man barely even bowed his dinosaur head in response before settling back down to wherever he'd been concealed before. The district Navarion was headed toward was uphill, westward toward the interior of the city, giving him a clear view of the three women in the rest area. Watching her until he slowly moved out of sight, he hoped Nephentha would at least give him some sort of wave or nod to acknowledge that their friendship had indeed ended but that they'd remember each other. She did no such thing, almost avoiding looking in his direction until he was gone. Though Navarion tried to tell himself she would miss him as she'd told him months ago, the lack of any sort of acknowledgement at all felt like some sort of confirmation that a part of his past truly had ended, irreversibly, and that he'd have to move forward, grow up and sort out his new family life.

It only took him a matter of moments before he had reached the High Tide. Ratchet was an incredibly crowded city, and each block on its curvy and uneven streets bore numerous cramped, multi-story buildings. The district where the restaurant was found was only two streets over from the banking district, and it couldn't have taken more than four minutes to jog there, but the sheer volume of people and inhabited structures made the distance feel like it was much longer.

The High Tide was bustling in every sense of the word. There were groups of people sharing coffee and cigarettes outside on the curb and on benches as they waited for their group names to be called after tables had been vacated and cleared off. Two separate hostesses - both energetic but overworked gnomes - and an overwhelmed orcess trainee ran back and forth trying to coordinate seating arrangements and table cleanup with the servers and busboys. Ignoring them entirely, Navarion ducked beneath the door frame as he entered and walked straight toward the kitchen, squeezing around the crowded and noisy tables in the dangerously overburdened seafood restaurant.

So busy were the various servers, cooks and janitors that nobody even reminded the intruder that only employees were allowed in the back. Spying a pandaren cook working as an assistant to Astariel three days a week, Navarion quickly walked over to the furry cook as the man painted tartar sauce onto tilapia with a brush five slices at a time.

"Hey...man," Navarion said, realizing at the last minute that he'd forgotten the pandaren's name. "What's going on?"

Taking a moment to realize that he was being directly addressed, the assistant cook didn't even look up as he started to strategically lay pieces of parsley next to the tilapia slices. "Hey, mister Hearthglen. Astra was just here," the pandaren offered without even being asked.

"Good! That's good to know. I've been looking for her, but we keep missing each other. Did she mention anything?"

"Hey, you're not supposed to be back here!" a perturbed goblin janitor piped up from lower than both men's fields of vision.

"No, nothing that I can remember at least. She just asked for a cash advance on her salary for next week and left."

Even through the din of the restaurant and kitchen noise, Navarion felt a sudden painful ringing in his ears. "Alright, thanks so much, and hang in there," he sighed while turning to leave before the man could reply. His anxiety was increasing by the moment, by each step even, as he tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

Outside the restaurant, one of the gnomish hostesses caught him by the pant leg. "Hey tiny, there was an undead guy with a metal face and a ridiculously expensive outfit looking for you just a minute ago."

Valmar. If the Forsaken was already searching for him...Navarion tried to put more immediate pieces of the puzzle together as his mind raced and his balance waned. "Could you tell me which way he went, miss?" he asked, feeling lightheaded as he spoke.

"Yep. Right up toward the western road." The little gnome pointed toward the main road that lead out of town, past one flight point and Thunderhorn's stable. Feeling his anxiety rise by the minute, Navarion bolted without even properly thanking the woman.

A few brothels, the jailhouse, the gallows, stores catering toward travelers and a large fort like structure used for bathing kodos whizzed by as he ran toward the edge of town. Due to the focus on the midnight market near the southern bluffs overlooking the docks, the western edge of town was relatively empty. That enabled him to sprint and leap over obstacles without too many people looking at him as if he were crazy, and very soon Valmar came into view. The undead wasn't running so much as walking fast, heading toward the stables, fur coat flowing behind him.

Once Navarion drew near enough, he called out to him to get his attention. Turning halfway to face him, Valmar didn't stop walking as he talked. "Your sister claims that your daughter and her mother were last seen at the stables. Come on." Speeding up quite a bit, Valmar led the way along the high fence enclosing the pastureland behind the stables proper. They could already hear raised voices inside.

"What do you mean she sounded urgent? A customer can wait two minutes for you to wake me up!" Thunderhorn's voice was loud and angry, and he even broke into a smattering of Taurahe invocations after his uncharacteristically irritable tone in Common.

One of his two sons spoke in meek protest. "But dad, we can't wake you up every time a suspicious patron comes knocking - otherwise we'd be waking you up all the time!"

"Don't talk about our customers like that!"

Rounding the corner and entering the front office of the stables by the western ramparts of Ratchet, Navarion found an odd and worrying sight. Sharimara stood off to the side with her grappling hook, silent and observational as always as she let the family tiff play out. Thunderhorn was wearing a pair of pajamas that didn't quite match his huge frame, complete with a nightcap and all. One of his two sons sat behind the counter and sulked while the braver of the two bovine young men tried to plead with their irate father.

"She wasn't technically breaking any laws; it was her daughter and it's normal for their race to travel at night." At that point, the braver tauren teenager turned to Sharimara. "Isn't that right, miss Shari?" he asked, trying and failing to get someone else involved in the discussion.

Thunderhorn wasn't placated, and slowly the argument started to make sense. "I don't care if night elves can see in the dark, the Barrens is still a dangerous place after nightfall! Especially for someone dragging a seven year old girl around!"

"Wait, what happened? Has anyone seen my daughter?"

Navarion's interjection alerted the three tauren to his and Valmar's presence, their argument having previously blinded them. Anger mixed with an apologetic look on Thunderhorn's face when he saw the retired shadow hunter turned greenhouse worker, standing before him. Both sons suddenly became even more meek and sheepish, immediately giving a sense of foreboding.

"Navarion, I'm sorry, but my sons apparently rented both nightsabres to your little girl's mom just under an hour ago," the old stablemaster explained. "They left in the direction of the Crossroads after an argument."

"The Crossroads?! At this time of night?"

The son behind the counter continued to use the silent treatment, forcing his brother to explain further under their father's gaze. "She showed up carrying two travel bags full of stuff. Your kid was crying and they argued in elf language; I have no idea what they said, but it seemed like the girl didn't want to go and her mom got kind of annoyed. She was really insistent that we rent two mounts to her as soon as possible. We tried to warn her about how dangerous it can be out here at night, but she wasn't interested in listening."

"She didn't answer us directly about her destination, either," the son behind the counter finally chimed in without looking up from his folded arms. "We asked where she was going exactly but she was so rushed in trying to hush the kid and load the travel bags on the sabres by herself and deal with paying us that there was no chance to ask her a second time. But she went in the direction of the Crossroads."

Speaking for himself, his sister and his family's odd undead friend, Navarion tried shoving all the cash he had in him into Thunderhorn's furry hands. "We need to go. Now. All three of us."

"Then you'll go for free. I don't know what your daughter's mom is thinking, but she obviously isn't thinking her travel plans through enough." Thunderhorn snapped his fingers at both of us sons, who promptly left behind the swinging double doors that led to where the mounts were kept. "I only have raptors right now; they're diurnal but they're fast and hardy."

"Whatever you have, we'll take; we just need to leave as soon as possible," Valmar added while stepping forward.

The old tauren stablemaster nodded to the deadman before turning toward the two live siblings. His look was one of regret and contriteness. "I'm sorry this happened. Hopefully you'll catch up to them before any trouble happens."

"We will. I guarantee it," Sharimara said for the first time. Her voice was low and serious, the way she often spoke before difficult quests.

The chirps of disgruntled raptors could be heard inside the stables, followed by the rustling of saddles and riding tack. Before his sons could even bring the raptors around the front, Thunderhorn had pulled out weapons from a cabinet opposite the counter. "It's dangerous for a small group like yours to go alone. Take these." The old tauren handed Navarion two short, exceptionally sharp scythes that were probably farming implements but were similar enough to the sickle he used to wield, and then handed Sharimara several hatchets and a pitchfork. Valmar always carried his rapier as part of his outfit and thus needed no assistance.

"Thank you Thunderhorn, so much...but I hope we don't need these," the shadow hunter coming out of retirement replied while feeling the weight of the scythes in his hands.

Louder chirping out front signaled that the three raptors were ready, and Thunderhorn led the trio outside where the irritated but very much awake sunscale raptors were waiting. The stablemaster's two sons helped the three mount up, and very soon they were off, bounding into the night.

"Ancestors watch over you."

From the moment they edited the main gates of Ratchet, Sharimara led the group in order to put her tracking skills to use. Aside from blunt directions, there were no words shared at all as they ran down the road, all three of them mostly left to their thoughts.

What had she been thinking? The question slowly ate at Navarion's core, striking him in ways he couldn't describe. Sure, he'd been rude to her the week before when she'd politely inquired about his work situation; there was no excuse for that. As the mother of his dependent child, she did have a right to know about his employment situation since, per their informal arrangement, he had accepted responsibility for their standard of living. But had he really been that mean to her? Had he been so rude that it warranted her not only skipping his weekly visitation from his daughter but asking for a cash advance from work and leaving town?

And just what was she doing? She's taken many of her belongings, but not all of them. Astariel was so intelligent, even if she wasn't formally educated; would she actually run out on him, his family and their agreement due to one discussion gone wrong? Would she give up all she'd gained simply because he hadn't been nice?

Or was he assuming the worst of her? Had she just denied him the right to see his daughter for one weekend as a petty form of revenge, but would be coming back later on? What was she doing? What was her plan?

Any sort of conscious, coherent thought - any semblance of cogency at all - was shattered when the screaming started. It was faint, it was far, but it was the most horrifying sound he'd heard in all his life.

"Heeeeeeelp!"

The small voice created by a tiny voice box echoed into the night, not far from the main road but certainly off the beaten path. Every single blood vessel, every single cell, every single atom in Navarion's body froze and stiffened at the piercing sound. His back practically seized up in him despite his health and relative youth, and saliva caught in his throat for no apparent reason.

All three raptors responded to the tension of their riders and sprinted forward into the night and off the main road. Navarion even lapped his sister, surging forward and scanning the area the best he could as the tiny voice was joined by a normally sweet but now strained one. Two crying persons, terrified beyond all belief and desperate for any sort of help called out in the darkness, unseen even to his nocturnal eyes. His sister shouted something to him, but he couldn't hear it over the sound of every single extremity in his body pulsing along with his rising terror.

The next sound even seemed to shake their undead companion.

"Harr!"

"Centaur! That's a centaur!" Valmar rasped as the three of them followed the sounds, though it was the last thing Navarion could hear.

Jumping over rocks, hills and stones, the three of them pushed their raptors to the brink as they tried to hone in on the sounds. When the screaming stopped, a sense of dread gripped the panicked father's soul in a way no warlock could have been capable of.

When Navarion saw the first spots in a trial of blood in the grass, he could no longer contain himself as a whimper escaped his throat. Speeding off into the night, it was all he could do to simply cry out at the creeping fear he'd been repressing all evening, and to mourn what he'd lost through his own actions.

It was all he could do to mourn that sense of loss, and go over all the mistakes he had made that had led him up to that point...


	18. Rescue

A light breeze rolled over the Barrens on that night. Quiet, calm and relatively warm, it didn't even rustle the branches of the dry baobab trees as it passed through every open space. The large, flat area was empty, peaceful even. Grass that was normally like a gilded sea in the daytime shone a light brown under the starlight, creating a scene that should have been beautiful. But on that night, there was no beauty to be seen.

Three riders sped off into the darkness, leaving the main road behind as they engaged in a search and rescue mission for two people whose destination they didn't even know. Agitated raptors swiftly navigated over unseen rocks and holes in the ground, huffing and puffing as they responded to the desperate spurs of their riders. Two people with the frames of trolls and the glowing eyes of elves pushed the dinosaur mounts as fast as they could move, followed by an undead man doing his best to keep up. No words were shared among them; none needed to be.

A small girl, obviously quite young, screamed hysterically into the night. A pained cry that would pierce the coldest heart, it echoed across the empty wasteland and rang in the ears of the only three people who could hear it. A bereaved father, pushed beyond all logic and reason, ran toward whatever was the cause of the distress, no longer even paying attention to whether or not he was about to run into a tree.

A second cry came, this one from the voice of an adult. It was a soft voice, a gentle voice, even when under the threat of imminent danger. His sister tried to tell him something but he couldn't hear her, all of his attention focused on a singular purpose. Every fibre of muscle tissue tensed up, every molecule in his being shook, every iota of his existence was ripped asunder at the sound of those screams. And when those screams stopped, he felt a stabbing in his chest with every breath.

"Harr!"

The familiar battle call of the foul centaur clans followed the screams, increasing the sense of panic that all three riders shared tenfold and even spurring the raptors to charge even faster. On a flat, empty space, visibility should have been high but the increasing frequency with which the large hills, boulders and baobab trees appeared, little could be seen beyond a few yards. The riders pressed on and on, even as the ashes wafted around and stung their faces.

Aiding their search was the blood. Subtle at first, it stained the light brown sea in the form of a trail, beckoning to be followed. Step by step, inch by inch, the blood became thicker as the traces of whatever had been murdered manifested themselves more tangibly, training the riders with an ultimate result they couldn't seem to find. The scuffling of hooves and one final death groan of a large cat sounded off even louder, and the riders realized that they were very close.

Embers from a brush fire, almost like a slash and burn farmland, danced around in the light breeze and whipped away in the wake of trail blazed toward the commotion. Two rocky outcroppings jutting out from a hill couldn't conceal the light of the fire, the source of the ashes, as even the raptors began screeching in anticipation for the worst.

Navarion, Sharimara and Valmar pressed their raptors to jump over the last hill. Far beyond the outcropping, the scene played out before their very eyes at the triangle of baobab trees.

Cracked decorative plates littered the ground in front of them next to two torn travel bags. Soft rations of bread and cheese had been half eaten and thrown to the ground spitefully, and even the money they carried had been strewn about as if the savage mauraders didn't even care for mediums of exchange. The trail of blood became a pool at the feet of a once sleek nightsabre, its healthy coat drenched in the dark red liquid. Its neck, back and abdomen had been pierced by crude, primitive weapons made of rusty, poor quality cast iron that compensated for quality by weight. Its claws were covered in thicker blood, signaling that the mount had gone down fighting and had at least scored a few hits, even if it hadn't downed one of its assailants.

The second nightsabre fell, impaled on the tip of a rough instrument that looked like it was supposed to be a halberd. Two more attackers flanked its sides, ensuring that it wouldn't have a fair fighting chance as it was pushed to exhaustion and then baited. One, two, three, four, five, six centaurs pranced about, two of them rummaging through the stolen bags while three had been responsible for murdering the second sabre. A few hyenas paced around the edges, wary of the centaurs but waiting for the spoils.

The final centaur, bulkier than the others and attracting more flies to its filthy hide, wielded a crude sword enchanted by some kind of fire by their foul magics. The sword singed the roots of the largest baobab and slowly set part of it ablaze, burning the thick trunk at a snail's pace but threatening to eventually spread up and down the entire surface.

Stuck in the branches of the tree, screaming hysterically and crying as if having given up hope were two cloaked figures clinging to one another, too dejected to even wish for a swift end.

"DADDY! DADDY PLEASE!" Zelda screamed loudly enough to even startle the centaur, almost choking on tears and cinders when she saw Navarion leap off of his raptor and charge forward. Feet hit the ground as he heard Sharimara and Valmar follow soon after.

There was no place for pride or personalities, and Astariel's desperation melted away any animosity they may have born toward each other. Too terrified to even speak, she looked in his eyes across the clearing, her tear stained cheeks pulled back in the cries of someone whose throat had already gone hoarse. The raptors chased the hyenas into the darkness, leaving the group with no means of leaving and no more purpose for even existing but to reverse the most horrifyingly cruel twist of fate.

"More target!" one of the centaur shouted in Low Common as the group approached.

In their arrogance, they were slow in responding, leaving the first two to charge toward Valmar while the others laughed and then yelled as the Forsaken began slicing up the hands and forearms of the two assailants. The sound of a warden's blink spell rang into the air as Sharimara moved behind the other group of three and began throwing hatchets at the centaurs' hindquarters and haunches, leading them in a semi-circle as they tried to catch their much larger but also much faster opponent.

Both groups left Navarion's field of vision as the ashes filled the air. The trunk of the baobab was thick and strong, but it was still made of wood; eventually, it would burn.

The older looking centaur pranced in between him and the tree holding his daughter and her mother, blocking his way and wasting more time. The horseman's poorly crafted sword blazed into the night, the enchantment singing the hilt and even the rust of the iron itself but not actually oxidizing it or consuming any part of the hilt. The centaur's lips curled back into a disgusting sneer filled with rotted teeth as flies landed on his skin and even crawled in his ears. A taunting gesture was meant to enrage him into making a mistake, but it didn't work.

There was no rage. There was no anger. Those were emotions in response to mortal relations, and were too easy to come and go. What Navarion felt was something deeper, something more essential and basic to his vertebrate brain. Something ingrained and I born through instinct rather than a mere response to a stimulus. A primitive, intangible force propelled him, taking over his mind as civilized and contemplative thinking faded from existence entirely.

"I Kyzylkul, son of Nazar clan," the centaur spat in his barely comprehensible speech. "We watch them die; I watch you die."

The centaur raised his sword to defend, underestimating the speed at which the shadow hunter would swing the two scythe blades over and over again. Although Navarion was about a foot taller, the ignoble savage calling himself Kyzylkul was heavier and pressed back hard, budging a little in surprise but holding his own. Four stallion like legs pushed bag, digging hooves into the dirt as both hands gripped the hilt of the enchanted sword and pushed. Embers stung Navarion's hide as the enflamed sword burned dangerously close, coating part of his own arms in a grey layer as snot and spit dripped from Kyzylkul's face due to his heavy breathing.

Locked in combat as the yells and yelps of other centaur rang out around them, the two men fought a war of attrition. Kyzylkul stomped on Navarion's feet and shins hard, popping at least one toe out of the socket as the hard hooves came down. Pulling a page from his father's book, Navarion used his knees to strike Kyzylkul's solar plexus, hips and floating ribs repeatedly, neither man bothering to defend as slice after slice of the scythes met the burning sword.

Back and forth the men traded blows as the ashes of that burning sword mixed in the air with the ashes of the burning baobab. Calmed by the presence of three saviors even in the face of overwhelming odds, Astariel and Zelda had gone from screaming uncontrollably to simple whimpers and cries as they climbed further up the branches to avoid the choking smoke. Mother clung to daughter as if it would be the last time, and the sight gave Kyzylkul the opening to stomp his distracted opponent in the knee and push forward.

His meniscus jarred enough for him to stumble, Navarion found himself losing ground to his heavier interlocutor as more space was put between him and his family. Letting the joint pop and possibly dislocate, he leaned all of his weight into it in order to hook both scythes onto the burning sword. The blade cut into his shoulder, stinging his eyes with embers and burning his hide in a way that would leave a scar - the regeneration from his father's side of the family was weak against fire. Using the nimbleness of his mother's side, he bobbed his head forward before Kyzylkul had a time to react and hooked one of the centaur's eye sockets with one of his short tusks.

"Yyeeeaaarrgggh!" Kyzylkul bellowed as one of his eyes was completely mutilated and his entire skull was dragged as Navarion's tusk stabbed into the socket.

Thrashing his head from side to side, Navarion jarred Kyzylkul's entire skull and shook the centaur off balance. Still pressing with his sword for protection, the centaur wasn't ready for a second barrage of knee strikes to his midsection and buckled, loosing his grip on the sword with one hand and falling to only two knees on one side.

"Gah!" Navarion grunted as a halberd stabbed into the back of his upper arm, completely unprepared as one of the centaur escaped past his sister and attacked him from behind.

Kyzylkul quickly crawled away as Navarion spun around and narrowly avoided being stabbed in the throat by the other centaur's halberd. Agile as he could be after having been stabbed, Navarion swung out and stuck one of his scythes between two of the centaur's ribs, dragging the blade and opening the horseman's abdomen up to the outside air. Unable to hit back effectively once he'd been cut open, the centaur backed off from the clash only to be stabbed in the back of the neck with Sharimara's pitchfork. Death groans from one of the centaurs fighting Valmar filled the wounded shadow hunter with a second wind, even when he found Kyzylkul upon him again.

The flaming sword was aimed down toward the top of his head, just barely missing as the half elf, half troll ducked forward. The blade cut open his shirt and sliced off the top layer of his hide over the back of his shoulder blade, sending out smoke but no flames as flesh was burned painfully once more. The baobab tree's trunk began to light up, eliciting a new round of screaming from Astariel and Zelda as they found themselves slowly being smoked out while the centaur tried to hold on to their prize catches.

A second upswing of the burning sword was parried, giving Navarion enough time to hook a scythe into Kyzylkul's elbow. Tearing downward the best he could, the shadow hunter heard a nasty sound followed by a loud yell as one of the centaur's arms went limp. Defeat at hand, Kyzylkul turned tail and kicked Navarion in the pelvis with both of his hind legs, buckling the shadow hunter over just in time for Sharimara to throw a hatchet over his head. The blade embedded itself in the meat of Kyzylkul's buttocks, preventing him from running properly as the cowardly savage tried to flee. Unable to kick back again even when Navarion was out of breath and limping, the centaur found himself pressed to the ground as Navarion tackled him and raked the scythes across both halves of Kyzylkul's body in the most slowly painful way possible, crippling him and leaving him to bleed out as Astariel covered Zelda's eyes.

Already having vanquished both of his own foes without injury though at the expense of his expensive clothing, Valmar rushed forward in his tattered rags and ripped his fur coat off, using it to smother the flames spreading up the trunk of the baobab tree. Satisfied that the fire was handled, Sharimara inspected each body and stabbed with her pitchfork repeatedly to be sure that all of the horse people really were dead. By the time the last of the Flames has been smotherd and beaten out, the raptors returned, having caught one of the hyenas for a meal and chased the others away.

Not even bothering to cast a heal spell himself, Navarion began to climb the smoldering tree. Muscles seethed under the strain and the heated wood burned his hands but he didn't care, focusing only on the two figures in the upper branches of the tree. Quaking in lingering fear and stress despite the night mare having ended, it took a moment of prodding before either the woman or the girl responded to Navarion's attempts to coax them out of the tree. Taking advantage of the delay, Valmar quickly dragged the corpses of the centaurs and nightsabres behind the rest of the trees and out of view of the child.

Somehow despite his frazzled mind, Navarion managed to tap into his voodoo and feel that neither mother nor daughter had been hurt physically despite a few scrapes in their hands and feet from the initial climb. "Zelda," he coughed while reaching for the girl and cupping the back of her head. "Daddy's here, sweetie. The bad men are gone - we came for you." Shaking as if she were freezing despite the dry heat from the burnt trunk, the girl looked down at her father, and despite the tears in both of their eyes she was able to see that the centaur were gone.

Bravely leaving the safety of her mother's arms, Zelda reached out and grabbed on to the sleeve of his singed and ripped shirt, resting against his forearm as he pulled her to his chest. She clung to him for dear life, even digging her sharp nails in to his hide as her sobbing subsided but her need to be held didn't cease. They remained up there in the tree as she let it sink in that she and her mother really weren't in danger anymore. Relieved that they'd been saved and that she truly wasn't alone, Astariel seemed to acquiesce both to her exhaustion and to the fact that she wasn't caring for the girl on her own and slumped into the branches. She even waited patiently as Navarion descended the trunk and handed Zelda over to Sharimara, who sat the girl down on a large, flat rock and held her tight. When he climbed back up the tree, no words were necessary as he extended his hands to lift her out of the branches. Without awkwardness, she accepted as he carried her down to the ground and set her down on another rock as she panted.

Clarity sweeping his mind, Navarion's ears twitched as instinct gave way to coherent thought. Anger built up inside as he watched Astariel catch her breath and avoid his gaze, and just tried to wrap his head around what had happened.

"Sweetie, aunt Shari and mister Valmar are going to take you to sit near the raptors. Mommy and daddy need to have a meeting."

For a second, only Astariel's heavy breathing and the raptors' contented chirping broke the silence. Sharimara picked up on the tension in her brother's demeanor and didn't intervene, knowing that, at his mindset, it really would lead to yet another fight. Looking to Valmar for guidance, she found nothing from their family's trusted friend, and both adults stood still until the child showed more initiative than any of them.

"I'd like to go lie down for a bit," Zelda stammered, far more controlled than most children would be after such a harrowing experience. Taking her aunt's hand, she walked with the two other adults before sitting down in the grass near the resting raptors, in clear view of her parents but just barely out of earshot.

Sensing his intensity upon her, Astariel looked up for another long, honest stare. It was the kind of stare shared only by people who knew each other so well that they felt shy about it, having no place to run or hide. Exposed before one another, she tried to look defiant at first but quickly faltered under his anger.

As if trying to play the conversation strategically, she almost didn't utter her gratitude. "You saved our lives," she murmured, looking down again. She was mentally prepared when he ignored her words entirely.

"Explain this."

When she looked up, she almost looked afraid of him. Certainly not physically; she knew him too well to fear something like that. It was the fear of someone caught in the act, knowing that they would have to reveal themselves in a position where they felt no comfort at all. Despite the slow burn inside his chest, he tried as hard as he could to restrain his tone of voice and facial expressions so as not to frighten her, but the grit of his teeth made that rather difficult.

A measure of that defiance came back as she cleared her throat to speak. "I had a job interview in the Crossroads. There aren't many of our kind there and I'd have the opportunity to prepare both our food and other kinds as well." Her voice was clear despite her nervousness, and she looked like she expected much worse than she was receiving.

"So you left in the middle of the night in the Barrens?"

"No, yes. We can't go in the day because we won't be able to see well." Pausing, a bit of the fear of their surroundings crept into her again. Weak resistance broke through in her voice regardless as she tried to defend herself. "There was no way for me to know that centaur would be roaming at night. I would never knowingly put Zelda in danger."

She fell silent, obviously knowing that the defense was weak. Like a scolded child, she whittled the toe of one of her shoes into the dirt in discomfort at being looked at.

"And you left on my weekend?"

Although he'd calmed down, his line of questioning became more pointed, and she squirmed even more. "It was the only time I could go; I work the rest of the week like you, so my only choice was-"

"On my weekend with our daughter? When it was my turn to see her?"

Trying and failing to harden her gaze, she looked at him desperately for a moment, pleading with him to give her a way out via her eyes. He gave her no such avenue, and she tried to muster up as much strength in her voice as she could. "I had to - it's just an interview, not a promise. I can't jeopardize my current job-"

"The job in the city where my parents live? The ones who gave you a free place to stay and help send our daughter to school?"

"It's obvious that you don't accept me in your life!" she answered, visibly shaken and upset. Beyond her own control, the strength really did return but in an unfocused, unmitigated way as the both of them began breathing heavier. "You make that clear in the way that you always see me as a burden on you!"

His eyes furrowed in irritation, his mind clear now that she and their daughter were no longer in danger. "How? When did I even use that word?"

"It's not the word itself! It's your other words, your actions, your general attitude! You made it clear last week when you made our interactions based on your family offering me assistance!"

"Don't accuse me of things you don't know! I said something stupid and wrong, but I'd didn't change the nature of any interactions or make anything about anything!"

"Lower your voice!" she hissed at him under her breath.

"I didn't make anything about anything."

"That's not true," she replied, suddenly confident and irritated behind the point of being sad. "If it didn't matter than you would never even need to mention it at all."

"That's what's not true. It does matter and I didn't claim, just now, that it doesn't. I'm saying that it isn't the basis for our interactions. It's just one aspect, but not the most important one."

Hurt and exposed, she threw pretense to the wind and became less defensive and more melancholy. "That's not how it feels. You make me feel so resented, and so unwanted by your entire family when you talk to me like that." She sniffed and pinched the bridge of her nose, and he knew it was natural. She wasn't the type to fake pain or stress, especially not to win an argument.

"It was wrong, I told you that I know it's wrong," he confessed. One week too late, he suddenly found it was to admit fault. "But I'm sorry and I even wrote a big long letter I wanted to give you today so you could read it in the weekend. Instead, you end up trying to take my daughter away from me," he huffed back, his voice almost cracking at the end of his sentence as he felt overwhelmed by the thought.

His emotion stoked her own, and out of nowhere she began to speak in high, uneven tones as well. "No! I won't allow you to accuse me of this! Stop it! I would never stop you from seeing her!"

"You did for seven years!"

"No!"

"Then what else would you call not telling me I had a little girl, such a sweet little girl, for all this time!"

"Because you wanted nothing to do to me!" Astariel cried, losing her breath momentarily. "You treated me like dirt back then, and you still do now! You make it so clear that I'm only in Ratchet because your parents want to see their granddaughter!"

"The one you hid from them? You think they don't have a right to resent that just a little!"

"Then blame yourself! You're the one who made it crystal clear that you wanted nothing to do with me! What was I supposed to do after you left Nendis like that? Chase after you and grovel like your dog, always begging for attention? Just hoping you wouldn't curse me and deny any sort of connection like most other drifters having one night stands would?"

Navarion tried to answer, but he choked on air as he found himself unable to do so. From her perspective, from the perspective of any person in her position, she was absolutely right. He'd dumped her after letting her believe they'd be together and ran out of town like a coward, too afraid to explain himself or try to comfort her before parting ways. She hadn't had any reason at all to pursue him; to do so would have been denigrating to herself.

"Astra...what I did was wrong. Both now and then. I'm sorry, by all the Loa I'm sorry. From your perspective, you'd have no reason to want to contact me at all." Her expression was one of reactionary skepticism and suspicion, but he pressed on, despite her disbelief, despite their mutual tears of anger and hurt, despite years and years of bad blood reduced to stains. "But from my perspective, I've tried my best. I searched this whole continent for you, not knowing where you were, so I could do the right thing. I've tried, by the night I've tried to hard to change myself and become someone worthy of caring for that innocent child. And I'm going to screw up because I'm a bad guy trying to play the good guy, but I'm trying. Maybe that isn't good enough, but believe me I'm trying."

"Then try to understand this: my experience with you is rejection. Rejection in the past, and rejection when you expect me to live like some charity case completely and totally dependent on you and your family, but you won't even tell me simple details about your job, which I depend on. That's my life, and it's partially my money through child support, and you wouldn't answer a question from me that you'd answer from any stranger on the street. I don't know how to take that as anything other than you wishing that I would just curl up and die and leave Zelda to you."

"Don't talk like that. You're her mother and she needs us both, and you did an amazing job raising her. But we do help, and we have a right to see her - and you can't just decide to up and move away without telling me or anyone else. We have rights now that we know that she exists, just like you do."

Astariel shook her head. Her defianc head been broken at the same time that his voice had, but she just couldn't bring herself to openly accept what he was saying. "I don't have options, Navarion. This is my life. I was given this beautiful girl to care for without a father who wanted anything to do with me. I have to do what's best."

"What's best for her is to have a father, and a mother! And grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins! Everything she needs is in Ratchet, you have a great job in Ratchet, you can have a good life in Ratchet! Why would you jeopardize that by trying to quit for no reason and find some new job in a different city where things might not even work out?!"

"I do what I have to in order to protect Zelda. That's what I've done all of her life." She tried to say more, but her voice trailed off as she started to cry again. Not wanting their daughter to know anything was wrong, he leaned so close that they both became even less comfortable.

"Then stay in Ratchet! I'm sorry Astra, for everything. I'm sorry our lives turned out this way. I'm sorry for what happened. But this is life and we have to move on. We have a daughter we need to raise, and I'm going to do my best to become a more deserving man of her love and respect. Whatever it takes, I'm here, and I will always respect you as the mother of my child from now on. But you have to respect me as her father. And if you want this life, a life where you're not doing this alone anymore, you have to stay and be willing to accept help. Please, do it for her," he cried quietly while thumbing in the direction of the others.

Hurt lingered between them both, and a mistrust that would require years to heal wafted back and forth. But at the sound of his words, she shifted and sighed deeply, looking to Zelda and then back to him. For those few seconds, they both shared the question of what had happened to what had started out so promising and had now disintegrated. Maturity prevailed as she swallowed and nodded and he bowed his head in apology, acknowledging the difficulty of her choice.

"I'm sorry if I raised my voice at you," he told her, as exhausted as she was from the heated exchange.

"Don't worry about it. It's over." The hurt that still remained receded inside, leaving them both calm and rational enough to speak freely, if hurriedly as they both tried to control their racing hearts. "Thank you. For accepting responsibility."

He looked at her funny for a second, honestly confused as to how that could ever have been doubted in the first place. "She's mine. I accept half responsibility. That's what a grown man does."

The two of them lingered in absolute silence for a measure of time before Navarion finally got up to heal himself and the others. Only having three raptors, Navarion walked on the ground while leading the others - including Zelda on her mother's lap.

Not another word was shared between the two of them, though it would be necessary. Even if things had gone sour, even if they'd both been burnt out and disillusioned beyond hope for optimism, they both knew the truth about what happened. Keeping an even pace, the group walked back toward Ratchet, content with their safety and their knowledge that the mother would stay and the father would continue to work at becoming a responsible figure in their daughter's life.


	19. Forever

The snails slowly crawled around inside the shallow tray of water and waterborn plants, trying to escape the container in futility. After sticking a strip of adhesive tape the snails could not cross at the top rim of each tray, Navarion had completely prevented escape for the valuable delicacy animal raised at the greenhouse. Whereas before the small gastroliths had to be kept inside of large, deep tanks containing only a smattering of aquatic greenery, they could now be kept in numerous shallow trays stored in shelves. It had greatly increased the amount of fresh snails delivered to restaurants, and thus to the profit of the greenhouse itself as well.

Normally, he wouldn't be working at that time; he'd been able to maintain an official four and a half day work week over the past year or so, and greatly valued his down time. Duty called, however, and his problem solving skills were greatly valued as he constantly found ways to cut costs and increase productivity at the only center for homegrown food in the busy port city. Truth be told, he'd really started to enjoy his job, and not simply because his previous supervisor had been fired and run out of town. As it turns out, officials in a neutral city marketing itself as a trading hub don't take kindly to money laundering and embezzlement - such perceptions aren't good for business.

No, Navarion enjoyed his job because he'd finally realized that a truly mature adult takes pride in their work. No longer did he simply view the duty as a burden he had to bear for a certain number of hours before escaping a punishment. Rather, he'd begun to take it is an opportunity to do something positive for his community and to excel at something even his colleagues experienced difficulty with: how to grow more waterborn food plants and more edible aquatic animals out of a smaller amount of tank space. Ever since heed realized how much more of a difference he could make when he applied himself, he'd truly began to love his job.

At the tail end of an extra shift, he began to set the trays of water and sprouts back in their respective racks, lining the rows of tomatoes up and down. He ran one more round to make sure no snails had escaped, no sardines had flopped out and no plants had been completely rather than partially submerged. Once content with the results of his labor, he walked outside, locking the greenhouse behind him and washing his hands in a basin out back. It took a few minutes to rid himself of the smell of dirt, fish and lichen, and he didn't rush; there was no reason to hurry in life if one chose to remain calm and relaxed when under pressure or stress.

Clocking out only took a moment, and this time when he received his wages from the rare non-shifty, non-greedy goblin manager who had been assigned to the main office, he didn't even worry about counting his coins before leaving. Just having passed his first year at the job, he'd earned enough respect such that the floor manager would actually count his coins for him, and then have the secretary do so as well just to ensure that their most efficient employee was well taken care of.

Outside, he enjoyed the relatively uncrowded streets of Ratchet that season. Since there weren't any special markets or conventions going on, nor any influxes of immigrants or emigrants coming or going, the neutral port city was about as calm as it would be during all the four seasons. He was actually able to go for a stroll, admiring the beige buildings and their red tile roofs in their typical tightly packed formations. In his sleep, there were never any dreams of the battlefield anymore, nor memories of combat or campaigns. All the glory and victory he needed were in personal and professional accomplishments in his new life as a civilian, a role to which he easily adapted.

As he walked toward the bank district on the very lowest level of town, he spied two figures off in the distance, slowly making their way down a slanting street leading from a higher level of the city. One of them an athletic but purposeful woman with grey hair bearing azure streaks and the other a large blue man sporting a grey mane and beard bearing a scarlet tint, the two figures approached. Sauntering hand in hand, they quite enjoyed their early evening walks as they prepared for the night and almost didn't notice their oldest son until they were close enough for him to hear them.

"Ya ready for tha pickup, son?" Khujand asked as they all greeted each other in anticipation for the start of the weekend and their time with their granddaughter.

Bowing to his mother out of respect and letting his father ruffle his mane despite being an adult, the retired shadow hunter and current greenhouse worker relaxed as his weekend finally began. "Sure am. They should be waiting for us just down the way over there, near that little public park area thingie." He pointed toward the side of a building, which wouldn't make sense to an out of towner. To locals, it would be understood that he meant a public garden far down the road but in the general direction he was pointing at.

As if he were still a child, Cecilia began adjusting Navarion's hair with her fingers before they started to walk. "Son, either tease it up into a Mohawk or just tuck it behind your ears. You can't greet them looking like a mess." She quickly listen all of his indigo locks and did the latter for him.

"Mom, I can fix my own hair," he laughed while they all started to walk down the street.

Not the least bit perturbed by his resistance, Cecilia smiled at him the way she did when taking him to play outside as a child. "Always make sure you look your best for your family; they're more important than impressing strangers." Playing with her oldest son's hair a little more, she gave him a mushy look that made him feel like a rebellious, standoffish teenager again. "I remember when you were only eight years old. You were eating us out of house and home." Khujand smiled as well, but granted his son a reprieve from the embarrassment and didn't join in the conversation.

"Zelda is much better behaved than I was. I was a brat, to be honest," he managed to laugh, finding refuge in the self deprecating humor. "I had to make every mistake on my own and learn the hard way."

"You learned at the pace that was right for you, son. And you've become a good man because of it." Cecilia wasn't usually that openly emotional, and Navarion almost began to wonder if something was wrong.

"Mom, you're scaring me!" he joked as they finally turned around the corner and walked on to the long road marking the boundary between the city proper and the marina.

"It's been a year since you've brought us another grandchild, Navarion, and we couldn't be happier. You might not have been around for part of her life, but you're making up for it now. I can see it in how well she's taken to the family, and how happy she is here. And I see you in her the way I see us in you - her laugh, her smile, her intelligence." Cecilia grinned in an almost taunting way that he wasn't used to seeing from his mother. "And if she learns her lessons without needing to make mistakes first, then all the better. Her mom certainly did her part raising the girl."

Uplifted and downtrodden at the same time, Navarion felt a measure of old emotions pop up again after he'd naturally forgotten them for so long. "I wish I had been around when she was born. Or learned to walk and talk. I missed out on so much," he sighed, still smiling but a bit wistful as well.

His father grunted in disapproval but continued to look ahead as they all walked down the street. "Ya can't change tha past; these things happen for a reason. Ya learn ya lessons tha hard way, son; that's who ya are. And in the end, ya came out better for it and did tha right thing. Ya mama and I know all about that. One day, when ya look back at all these years, ya gonna understand that ya can't spend ya life regrettin' what happened in tha past; ya just gotta learn from ya mistakes and do tha right thing."

"Dad, that's the most you've lectured in at least half a year," Navarion laughed, getting his old man to let out a self deprecating laugh at himself as well. Passing docked ships with their lights blown off and shops that were closing up for the night, the nocturnal family scanned the area for the mother and daughter they were meeting. "Alright, don't tell me Astra is late again. Where are they?" he asked while looking over the heads of the handful of travelers looking for vacant hostel space that time of night.

"I see them," Cecilia said, pointing to the mother and daughter waiting inside the public rest area enshrined by a modest garden closer to the docks.

Turning to walk beside them, Navarion waved as his daughter began pointing in their direction excitedly. "She looks ready," he chuckled, watching how the eight year old girl bounced around so much that she almost dropped her travel bag.

Still wearing her school clothes, Zelda pranced around under the moonlight, leaping back and forth in the normally crowded space that was now empty of anyone else. A few workers milled about the docks, but for the most part almost all businesses were closed that time of night and any sort of night traffic was on the second level bluff on the south side, where most of the inns and taverns could be found. Her mother waited patiently, her arms folded in front of her and her work apron draped over them as Astariel waited to start her own weekend.

Before they even reached the small public garden, Zelda sprinted down the cobblestone road, bounding toward her father and even ditching the travel bag containing her clothes and other personal effects before leaping into Navarion's arms. Older and more mature by the week, she was better able to cling to his neck like an oversize gold chain as he swung her back and forth, much to Cecilia and Khujand's delight.

"There's my girl!" Navarion laughed while continuing to walk over to the public garden with his daughter hanging on to him.

"We didn't even bump into you once this week, daddy! I missed seeing you!"

"Oh, it's alright. We still have the rest of the weekend," he reassured her as his parents greeted Astariel politely and bearing more warmth than they'd shown toward her when she'd first arrived a year and some change before. "Are you ready to go use that coupon you won for a free ice cream at school?" he asked in reference to a gift card that Astariel had promised the girl could save until seeing her grandmother and using it then.

"Of course I'm ready for ice cream, do you even need to ask?" All four adults broke out into raucous laughter alongside her at her comment and her absolute seriousness behind it.

"Why don't you get going then, honey," Astariel chuckled while refastening the girl's travel bag straps. "The ice cream parlor will close soon."

"You don't have to tell me twice!"

"Astra, thank you so much for the opportunity," Cecilia said to her granddaughter's mother.

"Don't mention it, miss Hearthglen. I have her all week; it's the least I could do."

Impatient and eager, Zelda took both of her grandparents by the hand a pond began to lead them away. "What are we waiting for? Let's move, people! I don't want to miss out on our ice cream!"

"This little lady means business!" Khujand laughed while letting himself be dragged by a person one eighth his size.

The two grandparents and their granddaughter gradually walked up the street and out of view of the two parents, who remained standing side by side near the public garden. It felt comfortable, to just stand next to each other like mature adults without arguing or awkwardness. It had taken them both some time, even after the horrible incident so many months ago that nobody ever brought up, but they'd finally moved to a point where they mostly dealt with each other as friends without any assumptions.

Remembering his child support payments, Navarion silently emptied just a small percent of the coins from his wages to keep for himself and handed the majority of it over to Astra. She took it just as silently and tucked it away inside of her cloak, never making a big deal out of the payments.

A single group of goblin and gnoll dockhands walked by, chatting and laughing loudly to punctuate the relative emptiness of the main street near the docks that night. Usually, Navarion and Astariel would share a few words before bidding each other farewell - he to spend time with their daughter and she to whatever it was she did with her local friends. He honestly didn't know. Such exchanges were necessary, as it felt too impersonal to simply hand her money and walk away; not since that fateful discussion where they'd come to terms with their situation, their daughter's situation and Astariel's living situation in Ratchet. Life didn't always bring people what or where they wanted, they were able to joke many months on from the terrifying experience in the Barrens. He had planned to travel the world, fighting as a hero until he returned to his parents in their twilight years, and then to fight some more once they were gone. She had planned to continue her job as an archer forever, serving her own vigil atop the walls of her city as she waited for whatever monsters wanted to invade. In retrospect, neither of them had very realistic or even fanficul dreams; just a lot of never ending monotony they wouldn't have understood until actually finding they'd lost years repeating the same actions over and over. It didn't matter anymore; they'd met each other, and changed the course of their lives irreversibly.

There was a certain content irreverence to her demeanor that evening as they both watched the evening shift of workers clock in on the pier. Always defensive and cautious, the confident woman who had been forged by a hard life as a single mother was as Zorena had warned: more direct, more guarded, a lot less innocent. But when she let the hood of her cloak slip down to reveal that he scarf was only wrapped around her neck rather than her head between those hedges and trees at the public garden, something else filled the air. Well styled locks the color of fresh thistles ruffled in the breeze, floating away from two periwinkle cheeks. A full figure she could never seem to hide even under the cloak became easier to see as she loosened and relaxed, perhaps unaware that he was looking. Of course, her caution and suspicion were still there, but the outer aspects of Astariel hadn't changed.

Slightly guilty that he'd been checking out a woman who was supposed to be his friend and his partner in raising their daughter across two homes, Navarion focused on the pier again and tried to make small talk before going their separate ways.

"How's the restaurant doing?"

Tilting her head so her hair would strategically cover the burn wounds on the one side of her neck and shoulder, she took a moment before responding. "Things are great, actually. I don't get to cook as often as I'd like; they have me supervising the others to make sure quality remains high." She breathed in the ocean air deep, displaying a contentedness behind the hard exterior of the Iron Lady she seemed to project.

"I'm sure more pay comes alongside the added responsibility, though. Plus you can still cook for yourself, right?"

"Believe it or not, we don't cook."

"Get out of town."

"I'm being serious," she laughed. The sweetness wasn't what it once was, but memories kong since passed made it sound all the better to his ears as she settled in to the small conversation and became more comfortable. "I deal with chefs all day. Usually I just being home uneaten or unclaimed food from the restaurant and we just eat leftovers, or raw fruit. Or junk food."

"That...makes a surprising amount of sense, actually. Because I could never imagine eating snails, or sardines, or bean sprouts, or water chestnuts or any of that other stuff I deal with." He stared out over the ocean next to her; from their vantage point, they had a clear view between two docked cargo ships and could see the starlight shimmering on the water over the horizon. "I guess if you work with something all day, you're tired of it once you get home." For a few seconds longer they both continued their oceangazing, until he noticed her turn to face him in his peripheral vision.

"Can I ask you about work?"

Feeling contrite over a discussion long since past, he bowed his head toward her. "Astra, come on. Ask me about anything, it's fine," he told her softly. He hadn't intended his voice to sound that way, but it did.

"How's work?"

"It's fine."

Holding his gaze, he fought off the laughter bubbling up inside but found himself unable when she continued to stare at him in confusion. "That's it?" she laughed.

"That's it. Simple," he replied while turning to face her and look her in the eye. "There's beauty in simplicity, is there not?"

Standing at the edge of her mental door, she stiffened a bit but hesitated. He could feel it, just like he could feel her caution taking over but restraining itself. He knew full well that it was within her power to slam that mental door in his face, but for whatever reason she chose not to. Not yet, at least.

"Yes...there is, of course."

Worried that the conversation would skip a beat, he tried to simply go for it. When he was a younger man, he would have known that it was too early, that he should have flattered her a little more, annoyed her a little more, pushed and pulled until he found her unable to resist.

But he was not that man anymore, nor did he want to be. He was too old for games and tricks; that unsavory time in his life was dead and buried. To be direct was his style at that point.

"Simplicity and stability are the two columns of an adult life, I suppose. Those two aspects leave us free to choose our own paths in life, and live however we want to."

Plain and honest words, though not quite vague enough for the retired archer and current chef. Stiffening and putting on the best monotone sentinel act, Astariel faced toward the ocean once more and pulled her cloak a little more tightly around herself, as if preparing to take her leave.

"I suppose so," she droned like a frigid Darnassus sentry guarding the portal from Rut'theran City. Her entire demeanor shut down so quickly that, were Navarion twenty years younger, he would just move on to the next lady who hoved into his field of vision and forget about the exchange entirely.

But this was the year seventy six, and he wasn't interested in meeting ladies anymore; he'd met enough. Instead of moving on, he tried a different approach and poked her a bit.

"You're in an amazing position in life, all things considered. You're more or less free to pursue anything you want in life now, and not worry about social consequences; nobody can judge or deny you the right to be honest with what you want."

A snide sneer broke out across her face, shutting the door quietly without slamming but, unbeknownst to her, also without locking it. "The ladies at the taverns must love to hear lines like that," she mumbled at him coldly, doing her best to display her impenetrable shell. Thinking she'd bruised his ego, she brushed her hair back in preparation to don her hood again.

Undaunted, Navarion poked a little harder, giving tit for tat and preparing the revelation he'd been building toward. "I don't chat ladies up anymore; I'm a father and a responsible adult. And I've been dry for almost a year now...which I think you're aware of, considering the fact that you've been asking at those taverns to see if I've been seen with other women around town." His voice was as gentle and humble as he could muster. It was a delicate issue, and a high risk comment that would either silence her due to being exposed or incense her enough not to speak to him again for a few months.

Holding his breath, he waited as she stood silently, one hand still holding her thistle colored locks back. Tension mounted as he wondered whether he'd made his point about his new lifestyle or simply angered her. When she snorted in surprise he relaxed, knowing it had been the latter. Ever so slightly, he tilted his head in her direction and spied the blushing of her beautiful cheeks and the tips of her ears. Silenced and embarrassed herself, Astariel lowered her hands in concession of defeat. Though no longer stiff she wasn't loose either; a certain nervousness set in as she wondered what he would do with his minor victory once her snooping had been revealed.

Not an iota of haughtiness or desire to gloat entered his mind. He'd been humbled far too many times himself to care for such pomp anymore. Taking another risk but knowing he'd at least jammed his foot in her mental door, he turned to face her fully and looked down at her. There was a sheepishness there he hadn't felt around a woman since he'd been a teenager, and he didn't bother bidding it in his face or body language. That confused her, putting her even more off guard.

"Listen, Astra...we're adults. We know each other very well, we're both stable and working and we've come to a lot of understandings about each other. We can be open and honest, I think." One of her ears twitched as she straightened up, though not in a defensive posture. Like a deer in the headlights of a goblin chopper, she froze as if everything she'd come to understand about him was turned on its head. "I know you don't normally eat at restaurants, but a little change is good. Zelda is off with my parents, and, well...I wanted to invite you to Prakusha's Fried Tater Stall. It's quaint, and they have this quiet little patio area in front where we can sit and have a quick snack."

At first she didn't answer, statuesque as she continued to stare straight ahead. For once he simply ignored the whispers of the spirit world and felt her mood naturally, sensing that she was waiting for him to continue speaking and save her from the awkwardness she felt. But he did no such thing; he continued to look her over, completely unassuming and open as he finally tried to just be up front about his feelings.

Closing her eyes for a moment, a mixture of irritation and something else - something more guarded - bubbled up to the surface. "After almost a decade, you finally want me around?" she asked euphemistically. "And you expect that because I have to see you once a week, we should feel obligated to pretend? Is that what this is?"

"Look, Astra, I'm not asking for anything major. I'm just inviting you to come eat greasy fried potato slices with me so we can talk. Like two normal, mature adults. We're allowed to do that."

"Nice to know you're allowing yourself to make demands on my time," she huffed. Her mock offense was a little too forced, but she seemed to think her line had convincing.

"It isn't a demand at all! It's an invitation with absolutely no pressure. My parents are watching Zelda and if you want to, I'd love to share some Feralas fries with you and just chat like two normal, civil adults. It's a small get together."

For a split second, she regained her bearings somewhat - at least enough for sarcasm. "Oh, so that's what they're calling it now," she quipped hard and fast.

"Alright, whatever you want to call it, we'll call it. Look, just look for a second." He reached to lay a hand on her shoulder, though she spun too quickly for him. Not shy in the least, he didn't hide his hand as he lowered it, acknowledging that he'd tried and she'd spurned him. "You're Zelda's mother, and I'm her father. We're responsible people, we have free time, and we get along cordially. There's nothing wrong or weird if we decide to share a snack and hang out."

All around them both, a noticeable shift occurred in the air. It was like the atmosphere suddenly became so shaken and garbled that the door fell open, no longer able to stay closed securely. Unsure of what to do, she stood in that proverbial doorway, at least blocking it if she couldn't close it. Even in abstract terms, he found it simple to understand but easy to describe.

She always had been a poor actress. Facing him fully and glaring at him, she wore the expression of someone who was mad and didn't even remember why anymore. Yet the more she tried to bolster her hard exterior shell, the more she ended up opening it herself. The hardened, streetwise, world weary woman showed a side that was a little less focused and mature.

"You're only asking me to eat with you because you feel obligated to do so."

"That's not true," he answered so quickly that he almost ended up cutting her off. "I don't have to ask you. We part ways every week and I don't ask you. I'm asking now because...look. We're parents to the same child! Prakusha's place is right around the corner, she's still serving, it isn't crowded and I just want to talk to you for a few minutes and relax."

"So you're only asking me because it's convenient, then. You wouldn't want me around otherwise."

"Come on, don't be like that! If you don't want to eat with me then fine, just tell me. We're adults, it's okay to decline a polite offer. But don't accuse me of things." His voice became more passionate as he tried to make her understand that it wasn't a trick on his part or some huge deal. "I'm just trying to be nice."

A shift he hadn't expected occurred next, and although she didn't quite have her bearings, he realized that he didn't either. He winced as she poked him back, easily finding out how to push his buttons. "Just trying to be nice? Thank you. I appreciate it. You can feel good about yourself for having tried to be nice to me."

"That's not it at all."

"Good to know that you feel sorry enough for me to offer to buy me fries and whatever carbonated drinks the place serves."

Frustrated by her attempts to blow him off when he knew - deep down inside, he knew - that she didn't really want to, he let go of his self control and fell into the same trap she had. "How can you say that? I'm literally just standing here, going out on a limb and asking you ou...to hang out for a bit. Nobody forced me to do that! I could just go on with my life and never talk to you for more than two minutes a week. I'm asking you because I do want to talk to you for more than two minutes!" he almost yelled, though not directly at her. His voice was high and louder than a normal speaking voice, which only encouraged her more as she momentarily gained the upper hand.

Playing the role of the arrogant little tart to the tee, she literally folded her arms and turned her nose up into the air. "I don't think you're sincere," she practically taunted as she spoke with her eyes shut.

"What? Are you being serious?"

"I'm being serious," she answered haughtily, ignoring the quartet of goblins walking by that started to listen in on the increasingly heated conversation.

"I'm telling you! If I'm not sincere, then why would I even bother?"

"I don't know how your mind works."

"Then how do you know that I'm not being sincere?"

Eyes still closed and arms still folded, she over acted the role as she continued refusing to look at him. "Just a hunch," she said nonchalantly, "and my hunches are usually correct."

"I...you! Goddess damnit woman, I'm being sincere!" he shouted, startling her enough to jump and causing the goblins to come to a stop. "I swear on all that is holy, I'm being honest and sincere! I'm Zelda's father, you're her mother, and I just want to eat oily junk food with you and tell jokes about work! I don't feel like I have to, I really want to, so why won't you believe me!"

"Because! Because! Of reasons, now keep your voice down!"

"Forget your reasons, you're just hiding behind a wall! And by the night, Astra, I did that for so long and it's awful! That isn't a way to live! Believe me, by the Loa believe me, I'm just trying to relax with someone I like!"

"I get it, I get it!" she shouted back, more jumpy and nervous than irritated at that point. She clutched her cloak, though not quite out of fear, and looked around to make sure that nobody was staring except the three annoying goblin hairdressers. "You claim you're being honest, I get it!"

"By Elune, by the sky and the stars, I really am! I don't feel sorry for you, I don't feel obligated, it's nothing like that! Two single parents of the same kid having food, that's all it is!" Startling her even more, he literally dropped down to one knee and grabbed her hand before she could protest. It was the first time he'd come into physical contact with her in a non emergency situation in almost a decade, and she flinched at the sensation of his fingers around hers. She felt soft even if she no longer acted it, and her wrist held limp in a way that wasn't usual for the toughened single mother. "And so I ask you on bender knee...will you eat potatoes with me?!"

The last few cargo ships at the pier blew out the lanters lighting their decks as the workers either slept inside or moved out to the city itself to find an inn. Navarion and Astariel almost existed inside of a bubble, unaware of and unaffected by whatever was happening outside of that small public garden. She let him keep her hand in his, perhaps frozen once more as she tried to wrap her head around what he was doing and saying. Her long eyebrows even furrowed in pleasant yet sad surprise, a look of disbelief on her face. One of the three goblin women waved to catch her attention and mouthed the words 'say yes' before her two giggling friends dragged her away. He just remained kneeling in front of her, humbling himself before a female in a way he hadn't done since his first real relationship when he was eighteen years old.

Pursing her lips, Astariel managed to wipe any expression off of her face as his heart raced, waiting for her answer.

"No."

For a microsecond, his heart stopped beating. Then it accelerated at breakneck speed and the slowed again. He almost felt dizzy from the surprise; although he approached her that evening without trying to imagine what might happen, he hadn't expected outright rejection like that.

For whatever reason, he didn't receive it.

"Fries? Really? That's so cheap. You make good money and I'm worth more than grease fried crap." Keeping her hand in his, he could feel her fingers trembling slightly in the same nervous state as his. Regardless, she kept her composure and continued to look rather victorious and pleased with herself. "You need to buy me prime ribs if you really want my company."

After her subtle trick sank in, he blinked a few times and remained kneeling so he wouldn't swoon. "Prime...ribs?" he asked, absolutely stunned.

"Yes. Prime ribs. Only the best. That dwarven steakhouse is still open," she demanded without a hint of shyness.

Balking at the prospects of a ten gold a plate restaurant, Navarion at least took solace in the fact that he'd wedged himself through her mental door. "Oh...alright. Prime ribs it is, then."

"With turkey gravy. The kind imported from the Wetlands."

"Imported turkey gravy?! Seriously?"

"And those brussel sprouts they can only find in the Arathi Highlands."

"Well...okay, but that's pretty steep. I don't know if I can afford that every week," he admitted sheepishly.

One long eyebrow raised, she smirked in a way that confused him. "Every week? You still have to prove you're worthy enough tonight. This isn't cuttlefish at a hole in the wall place in Nendis."

"Cuttlefish...where?" It took him a moment, but eventually her smirk gave away the fact that she was teasing him. Rising slightly, he gaped at her in awe before getting a hold of himself again. "Damnit Astra, are you going to string me along like this forever?"

Completely alone, the two of them shared another deep, sincere look, but this one was devoid of sadness. And when another shift occurred, it was different. Markedly different.

Years of living on her own and supporting a child with help from one impoverished healer and one anonymous undead benefactor had taken their toll. Astariel hadn't aged physically - elves rarely did - but the light in her spirit had dimmed somewhat. Her laughter was less, the sweetness in her voice had diminished and the cute naïveté be remembered was long gone.

But in that moment there in the garden, she softened. For one fleeting minute, the wall she'd erected in order to protect herself and her daughter from a cruel, uncaring world came down. Her defenses willingly laid to rest if only temporarily and then, there, the familiarity broke through.

Something warm. Something happy. Something filled with the hopes and dreams of a person who he'd always believed had deserved so much better than what fate had assigned her. Only the two of them felt it, but it was real - it was absolutely real.

That shy, innocent girl he once knew revealed herself to him, and only to him. Just like him, she was hurt, she was damaged, but she was still there deep down inside.

"Yes," she replied with a mischievous grin. "Forever."


	20. Epilogue

High on the bluffs above Ratchet, Navarion knelt down in the middle of that clearing. The stars shine down on him through the small break in the canopy, but after so many years of wondering where he'd went wrong, it finally began to dawn on him. It hadn't been wrong; it had been a learning experience the whole time.

For all his life, he'd miss the two of them. No matter how happy and content they'd been when they'd finally passed away - and they truly had been - he would still mourn. How else was one to deal with such a situation? With such a major, if inevitable, loss?

The wisp like light continued to glow inside of the naturally enchanted gravestones, illuminating the Hearthglen family tomb. After so many years of waiting, they'd made the best of what they could in that little community - her more than him, obviously. They'd made their life choices, and their final choice had been to spend the rest of their years in Ratchet.

Slowly, with trembling hands, Navarion reached out to sweep over the front of each stone. He never allowed them to collect dust from the Barrens winds, but it was his own personal ritual regardless. The names had been etched in Common, along with surprisingly similar runes in both Darnassian and Zandali.

CECILIA & KHUJAND HEARTHGLEN

LOVING PARENTS, COMMUNITY LEADERS

d. YEAR 81, d. YEAR 85

The tears continued to fall, but the pain was much less; remembering them didn't hurt as much as it once did. His voodoo had allowed him a limited form of contact with the world beyond, as it did for Anathil and, to an extent, Tiondel as well. Whimpering but truly happy for his parents, he was able to say what he'd kept inside for years.

"Mom...dad...you were right. Oh Loa, you were right," he cried softly, though without despair. "I can't be arrogant...I can't claim that I did the right thing. Others will testify for or against that. But, by Elune...it took time to realize, just like you said. Every mistake, every sin...I was stubborn as hell and that's how I learned. It took me so long...I'm sorry it took me so long. But a beast isn't tamed in a day, as you both used to tell me. I used to wish it had happened sooner...but fate has a way of putting things where they should be."

Sniffing one more time, he wiped his eyes in the back of his hand as he finally calmed down. When it came down to it, the graveside confession had been much easier than he'd expected. "I love you both...I always will. We all miss you...but sooner or later, every one of us will join you. Till all are one."

Breathing heavily for just a little while longer, he didn't hear the footsteps until her hand was on his shoulder.

"You did do the right thing, dear."

The sweet voice was tempered by years of a rough life, but it was the most beautiful sound to his ears all the same. Rising and turning to face her, he leaned down as Astariel wiped his cheeks with a soft cloth and gave her a quick kiss.

"You both are the best thing that ever happened to me," he told her without hesitation. He never spoke like that in front of others, but when he and his wife were alone it was much easier.

Her cheeks flushed for a bit; despite having finally been married for over ten years, they still spoke of such things rarely; it made the words matter more. "The same is true for you, dear," she whispered, a bit embarrassed by the outward display of affection. They hugged a moment longer before she pulled back from him. "Come on, we need to make sure the community center prepared the right amount of candles. Irien is really specific about all those kind of details for the ceremony."

"She waited a long time to finally tie the knot with this bear Druid of hers," Navarion chuckled while leading Astariel out of the clearing by the hand. "I'm sure auntie is excited considering most of us are way ahead of her in the settling down department."

Before they had a chance to move halfway toward the front gate of the house, another figure approached. Swift yet never rushed, dainty yet firm bare feet pattered across the grass, creating a confident and upbeat stride that almost filled the area with a sort of figurative light as the figure strode over toward them. Years ago, she was the star of the family, a brilliant young girl who never let her difficult beginning hold her down. And there she stood before them, almost causing her father to get choked up again when he saw her so soon after having spoken to her grandparents. No longer a little girl; she was a beautiful, intelligent young woman.

Tall, elegant and with eyes glowing more than usual, the elf like lady with a troll's mane laughed at the sight of her parents holding hands. Every bit the grown woman preparing to leave for training at the temple in Darnassus, Zelda held streamers of two different shades of pink in her hands. "Mom, which shade does auntie want?" asked a similarly sweet voice from the three-quarters elf.

"The one on the left, honey. Make sure to hurry, mister Valmar is trying to direct the workers for her but he'll need all the supplies."

Before she could reply, a young man of similar mixed racial descent to Zelda with light jade hair stumbled out of the back exit of the estate, clutching a sleeping school age child in his arms. "Uncle, she urinated in her sleep, what should I do?" Venjai asked as he held the oldest of the Hearthglen great grandchildren and the first that Cecilia and Khujand had held in their own arms. A bear Druid himself, Venjai had married a young lady from yet another mixed troll-elf background, and their class training in basic healing spells hadn't quite prepared them for all the dirty diapers.

"You're going to have to wake her up. Just go inside, Del and Naralia can probably help you," Navarion replied in reference to his youngest brother and the blood elf he'd married the second time around.

"Alright...by the way, your couch has piss on it, sorry," Venjai sighed, much to Zelda's amusement as both Hearthglen grandchildren walked back inside.

Sighing themselves, husband and wife laughed as they finally had some privacy again. "Shall we take a moment for ourselves before walking back into the zoo?" Astariel joked, using the name they often used for the comfortably crowded estate.

Navarion looked to the Hearthglen household - a household that, since Anathil and Tan'jin were away on business so often, he was now expected to be the head of. Three generations of the family lived under that roof, and its most disparate members constantly dropped by for visits. On the other side of the bluff was the ocean, the same spot where his parents would stand and watch the moon rise and set every night.

"I think we shall," he hummed while following her over.

The same spot on the bluff overlooking the ocean and Ratchet proper was well worn; he could almost feel the imprints of his father's wide feet as Astariel leaned back against his chest. He held her close, thankful for everything. For the love, for the pain, for the mistakes, and for the lessons. And in a way that existed even beyond voodoo or magic, he could feel his parents there with them. He knew it was real.

"I miss Shari," Astariel sighed while watching the stars twinkle overhead.

Counting all of those he'd lost, all of those he'd loved, Navarion focused on the starlight as he held the one he had present there with him even closer. The topic of his estranged youngest sister, alive and learning her own lessons, was still a fresh wound for them - Sharimara and Astariel had always gotten along the best.

"Shari was closer to our parents than any of us. She broke down when mom passed on and left home the day dad finally did a few years later...I guess because she had built her life around keeping them comfortable. Now, she needs to...to find her own way - she can't do that here." Feeling the sadness but also the pride for one Hearthglen that hadn't hung up her adventuring boots yet, he smiled and hummed again. "She'll come back to visit, some day. She knew that I would...and I know she will."

Snorting in affirmation, Astariel fell silent for a moment before speaking one last time. "Your parents would be proud if they could see the legacy they left."

Navarion grinned wide. "They can see us right now," he whispered while kissing the top of her head.

And so they stood, in the exact same position his parents did the first day they purchased the empty plot of land up there. And as they did, he could feel - on a level far deeper than his six senses - that Cecilia and Khujand were right there, enjoying those stars over the ocean until the end of time. But even deeper than that, all the good, all the bad, all the choices that had led them there still remained across time and space.

Somewhere, in some time, a Darkspear couple breaks a cycle of violence spanning back to the Gurubashi era, embracing each other on a bluff in the north of Stranglethorn Vale as they held each other close in the same way - generation after generation making mistakes until one pairing finally learned. And at the same moment, both at the same time yet outside of time, a hopeful Swiftfoot couple stand on a bluff overlooking the Well of Eternity at Suramar, not knowing how truly long their people would end up living. Two separate couples sharing one set of roots, all descending from a nocturnal nomad tribe living on the banks of a gigantic lake, all of them originally from one people, all of them still existing until the end of time, the bonds of love and family keeping those memories alive.

Beginning as one. Ending as one. Persisting in the heart, until all people everywhere choose to make amends and become one again.

The End of Taming the Beast

A/N: I cried. Literally. But I suppose, after such a long tale, that a final note is in order.

The big thing people might be wondering: are Cecilia and Khujand dead now? Well, yes and no.

Yes in the sense that all characters will die; even yours. Unless they're Forsaken or death knights. We don't like or even have to think about it, but in theory, all characters die eventually; the only question is whether or not a writer continues their story for that long.

No in the sense that these stories are all in the future anyway, almost half a century after the current timeline in World of Warcraft. Additionally, Cici and Khuj will still appear in future stories as side characters; chronologically, those stories are just set before they both pass away content, at peace and without pain, at home, surrounded by family. (I wrote out their ends but deleted them because I'm a wimp. But I can assure you all, they both go out in the best, most comfortable and domestic way possible.)

It pains me to write chapters like this, but for deeply personal reasons, I had to settle it. I don't plan on doing that with their six kids, but for them, my mains, there were very private reasons for writing the continuum's stories until their end that will be revealed in the last thread in the Hearthglen continuum.

What? Last thread? Yes, last thread.

Sharimara. While all the other five siblings are pretty much settled by this time, Sharimara took their parents' deaths the hardest; her seven story saga starts about thirty years after the time of this epilogue and it spans about three hundred years in total. When I reach that seventh volume, and Sharimara finally finds peace in her own way, perhaps I'll feel ready to tell the tale of why the continuum had to progress this way, why I quit writing and reading fiction for nine years and other personal things. In the meantime, Taming the Beast has been fun to write as well as therapeutic.

From the bottom of my heart, I thank anyone that made it this far. I hope that the story moved your hearts and brightened up your days just a little bit. God bless. I love you all.


End file.
